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A Poem for My Mother

A Poem for My Mother

momgetting kissed  My sister and I giving Mom a big kiss . . . miss her!

 

 

My Mother Taught Me to Quilt

(for Evelyn Crum, master quilter, 1933-2008)

 

 

My mother taught me to quilt—

how to measure width and length,

how to find shades of a rainy day,

or the hue of a child’s trust.

I watched as she patched each day’s pieces

into a kaleidoscopic whole.

And she always saved the scraps.

 

She taught me to ease dissonance

into harmonies of pattern, and to blind stitch.

She tugged, and I saw that the straight grain was strong.

But she said I must learn to work with bias,

for there are days when fabric needs to stretch.

 

I studied how she smoothed the layers—

how she rocked her needle, hand-stitching

it all to a strong back. And finally,

how she held me bundled in her patchwork.

 

Now, on rainy days

I walk out into the wet grass and collect

my colors–the impatient greens, the heart-deep browns,

the glistening grays, and the fresh-washed blue of a forget-me-not.

 

I measure. I cut. I rock my needle.

I bind my raw edges.

 

Mom and her quilts.

 

 

Shutta, revised 2013 (First published;  AACR2, 2010)