On nights when sleep eludes
women across the world
pick up needles—gather
dropped stitches of spite
and old hatreds,
untangle the skeins of war.
They knit soft bombs.
Cover a tank with pink wool,
hang a strawberry
tassel from its turret.
Swathe a submarine
yellow with acrylic and cotton
warm as a baby’s bootee.
Fat pom-poms conceal
the dark hull.
First published in The Canberra Times (August 2015) and subsequently in Black Tulips poetry collection (Recent Work Press 2020).
Listen to Moya reading Knitting for insomniacs (0:53)
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Not Very Quiet 