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fat quarters
by Maria Francescait all started
with fat quarters
at the fabric store
they made their way home
to become
dizzying arrays
of color and pattern
spread out
on the dining room floor
a step at a time
a stitch at a time
birthing woven kaleidoscopes
of Wedding Rings
and Log Cabins
and Attic Windows
and it only occurs to me
these many years later
that it was always
about home 05/30/2010 Author's Note: my mother was a quilter.
Posted on 05/30/2010
Copyright © 2025 Maria Francesca
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by George Hoerner on 05/30/10 at 04:01 PM Ah yes, home means so many things for most of us. Thanks for the memories Maria. A reporter in NYC asked the child living in the streets with his family if they were looking for a home. He replied, 'Oh no, we have a home. We are just looking for a house to put it in.' The child was maybe 7 or 8. Wisdom from children. |
| Posted by Max Bouillet on 06/04/10 at 03:21 AM They say quilting is addictive. My sister made me a quilt with patches from clothes from all my relatives so that I could always have family wrapped around me. This poem gave me a great memory. Thanks for sharing. |
| Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 07/10/10 at 05:13 PM Stimulating story poem Maria, that aptly pays tribute to your mother and the craft. Who doesn't love a quilt, especially in the dead of winter??? |
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