Fabric spun from memories –
pull it tight on the frame,
tack it all where needed
to keep it from slipping away.
Thread the needle, take on the task
of stitching an intricate design.
Ignore the pain in fingers and back
until it’s done – my blanket of time.
Stand back to look at my handiwork –
something useful made of it all.
I lay the blanket across my shoulders,
wrap it around me, understand my fall.
Years of lessons permeate
yet do nothing for the chill,
I wash the fabric with my tears
then dry it with goodwill.
I place the blanket in my room
despite the emotional cascade.
I rest beneath my handmade quilt,
I lay in the bed I’ve made.
~Nikki Anne Schmutz