Memoir Poem : the Rarity of Hand-made Pants


I thank you now Mama

decades later

for the elastic banded pants

that you knitted forever

you made them for me by hand.

You measured my legs

with wool skein threads

knitted relentlessly

like Charlotte’s Web

for many moons

with hopes to keep me warm

through East Coast winters

to save me through blizzards and storms.

I think you thought of Korea

where temperatures

in winter go below past zero

pants like that would be

unfashionably practical

gratefully necessary.

But the kids over here laughed

at my thick woven yarns

in North America

where everything is store bought

machine made with nothing saved

brand new and improved

convenient trendy disposable

glamorized commercialized

in North America

nothing is ever mended

just thrown away everyday

tons and tons of garbage.

Kids indoctrinated with cool

tortured me with ridicule

because they were brainwashed early

through taunts and chants

to not stand out ever

against the alpha crowd

the mob of psycho normal.

They shamed me into

being ashamed of you.

Your warm stone pot of tofu soup

Your hands stained with scents of garlic flowers

Your reach to hold my hands across the street

Your operatic voice and eyes beaming with singing

Your quick wit and saber sword words

Your crying alive with survival.


  1. What a beautiful poetic tribute to your mother.

    And having often eaten tofu soup that was served in a warm stone pot in Korean restaurants on a cold rainy day when I lived in Vancouver, I can personally see how wrong your mother’s detractors were.

    How wonderful that she had an operatic voice and enjoyed singing. ☺

    Liked by 1 person

      1. You’re very welcome. I remember so much that my mom did for me and I try to keep in touch with her as often as I can. I’m glad can be close to you through your writings.

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