My mother could make magic
from little scraps of fabric.
Forgotten dresses of long ago
became beautiful quilts
that kept memories alive
and warmed us at night.
There didn't have to be
a pattern, just love
in every stitch.
That love lives, though
she has gone, and
her quilts are worn.
In every fabric of memory,
every story, every poem.
I'll put together pieces
of our lives, like a
quilt to keep us warm.

Written October 1998
Copyright © 1998-2004 Brenda S. Parris