A Weaving for Alice Kavanagh   Too proud of having made my way In the world of men, I came late to the crafts of women. Arrogant resistance held me back That, or fear of the scorn I thought would come my way The relegation reserved for the spinster aunt Found knitting in the corner while the others were outside Like much that we fear, the scorn was my own.   I might have known sooner there would be solace in the wool In the rhythm of the needles, yarn forward, back Pleasure in forming pattern out of puzzling graph…