February 2019
NOTE: February seems a good time of year to write a quilting poem, and to look back on one's life. We are almost turning the corner to Spring, and memories sweeten like sap rising in sugar maples. sylviacavanaugh.com
Stitched Reflection
The Fates measured life in lengths
of string. I sewed a sampler quilt-top
one winter when I was twenty. I cut
each thin scrap and angled them
flat with my thin steel needle. Fifty
years later, I’m finally getting around
to the quilting. Two layers embrace
the batting as my needle weaves in
and out, parallel to each seam in the
pattern. I double-cross the broken dish
and shoo-fly a coffin star. Spin through
the whirlwind of positive pregnancy
tests. I tease out the devil’s puzzle of
a drunken man’s logic. A bird’s nest
of excuses gives way to providence
and a hidden star. As I inch across this
textile mirror, my needle gently pricks
the finger hidden behind the honeycomb.
First published in The Aging Poems
© 2019 Sylvia Cavanaugh
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