On cold nights with my candle
burning brightly I seamed
multi-colored fabrics,
wool and flax worked by my hands,
linen and silk and cotton prints
bought by my thrift and economy.
Pink and yellow scraps left from
girls frocks and pinafores,
petticoats rustling as they skip
through house and home,
laces and ribbons and silk
line their tiny sewing baskets
as they, too, learn to stitch
doll clothes of their very own.
The girls are a blessing, laughing
brown eyes reading lessons.
Scarlet and purple bits and pieces
left from days of sewing
work dresses and sun bonnets,
those pieces worn as I labored long
about the house and garden,
clothing that protected
my arms and neck from weary hours
working in the summer sun.
Brown and gray from remnants
of the thick jackets and trousers
of solemn and strong brown-eyed boys,
calicoes from shirts that were ripped
breaking the young stud colt,
sturdy clothing from the rough and
tumble boys who work hard at play,
linings from woolen caps and mits
to keep the little ones warm.
And from you, the wool over-shirts
and night shirts and sack coats,
sturdy clothes for a man of virtue.
Our lives twined through the
thread of my needles as I clothed
our family through every season.
Until through quiet industry,
there were enough fabric squares
to cover the big feather bed.
Be not afraid of the snow.
After all the tiny hand-stitches
have finally been completed,
the warm wool-lined coverlet
strengthened with my diligence,
pieced from our every day lives,
will bring comfort to your soul.
Beauty is vain, and time is fleeting.
When I can no longer wrap
you in my arms.
You will still have the work of
my heart to keep you warm.
This was quite beautiful, both on the surface and metaphorically. When I was a child, my grandmother would stitch quilts--she used fabrics from clothing as well. When her mother passed away, she stitched a quilt for each of us from pieces of her dresses; it was quite special. I could see this unfolding on the page as I read.
Metaphorically, I love the way that you brought in each "player" and showed how despite life's changing seasons, circumstances, etc., if we stitch together the fabrics of those who we love, we will be held together forever. This is creation. Well done.
Emily, youou hold a grace within that shines through bringing warmth to all that read your written word. What wonderful memories you evoke in my minds eye. Wonderful read always, just as you are! ~ :-) xo
"The Quilt" engenders a deep sense of reverence for this almost blessed patchwork creation.
You come across, Emily, as both endearing and enchanting.
Lest I forget, good poetess, very wise--mesmerizingly wise!
this is the type of modern mythology I try to capture often with my writing. beautiful, exquisite piece you have here. This is high-quality (ever get it published? if not, you SHOULD)
This is just ... incredible. How did this get past? I guess I have been away far too long forgive me? My fool nose has been buried in attempts at longer works and I missed the succinct beauty and wisdom of the words that can always be found here.
Posted 11 Years Ago
1 of 1 people found this review constructive.
11 Years Ago
ooooh, this is an old one . . . you probably just forgot that you read it before . . . i usually fin.. read moreooooh, this is an old one . . . you probably just forgot that you read it before . . . i usually find that we come to words when we are ready for them
This is quite possibly the most beautiful love poem I have ever read! The love Of a lifetime remembered in the comforting warmth of a quilt, sewn in love
Did you change this, or did it grow into something else while you watched in front of a keyboard? The best writing is a living thing. This is brilliant. Beyond that, I have nothing to say that is worthy.
There are many of us using the site who aspire to be poets. You are one of the true poets here. Your work is always a joy to read. That you have stitched the squares of this poem together so, so beautifully. Your work just flows like silk across naked skin.
This is a classic, timeless piece Emily. its a poem to savor, one that tells a deep story - beyond the quilt itself and the seamstress, its like a spotlight on an entire way of life. Well done. I can see a book of these. Easily.
to the Lost Boys
I am no Wendy;
but my voice brings you back to me.
And you sit around my feet,
anxious for a story
or a kiss.
Listening to my words
spinning adventures,
like so much g.. more..