To Sit and Sew

In quilting class, I sit and sew And wonder where the stress did go For somehow, I just seem to switch From tense to calm with every stitch. The needle pokes and pulls the thread Which follows where my fingers led As brightly patterned cloth succumbs; It matters not what it becomes. The end result is less the goal Than knowing I am in control Of all the pieces I’ve combined, My creativity defined. My work is slow but I don’t care; I’m happy when I’m sitting there, For thoughts of angst or wrath or guilt All vanish when I sit and quilt.