The Quilt

Later Version

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.

Author's Note

the note about the seasons caused a change. no matter how old my words are they still find themselves subject to scrutiny.

Reviews

[Girl Friday (Sarah W.)]

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.

[Rod Zinkel]

I'm sure I've commented on a previous version of this, or perhaps it was the same version. I don't think I commented at that time that all the fabric that goes into the quilt, listed, gives it a sort of weight that good quilts have.

[Jessica Malatori]

This poem was very sweet and went straight to heart. I like how each stanza is designated by colors, and what those colors in turn, mean. A lovely, peaceful poem, full of history.