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Lying in my Grandmother's old brass bed
I watch the blades of her ceiling fan slowing turning
Around and around and around again...
From the heat of this steamy July 
There is no end to my yearning.

The old vintage rosebuds on this wallpaper
Speak of its long gone days now no longer new
The paper's soft faded colors
Cast a feminine pinkish haze that mix into a golden hue
On my tan rural arms and long toned legs.

Somewhere in this old farmhouse
A fly is trapped... I can hear its incessant buzzing
Making its last ditch effort 
For any type of escape
I had done that same thing so long ago.

But now I am back here in this familiar room
Lying on one of my Grandmother's quilts
Pieced with love of more than hundreds of pieces squared
Each stitch handcrafted perfection, 
An ancestral prize to be loved and cherished.

Softened by the decades of delicate washings
I can smell the breezes from its last airing
I can feel my Grandmother's loving embrace
In this quilt that was so intricately made 
With so much love and caring.

Each piece of the hundreds of fabrics
Each of the thousands of tiny knots 
That were cut by hand and tied
Were executed with the surgical precision
Of a lifelong Quilter's eye.

Love radiates from this heirloom blanket
Created by my Grandmother's gorgeous vision.
Each block and stitch 
That were placed by hand
A kaleidoscope of patterns was her mission.

It will be my lifelong reminder
Of a life that was well lived
Of my Grandmother's love and caring
A wonderful remembrance of her talents and gifts
That I too, can share someday.

And so back in her room I find myself
Lying on my Grandmother's quilt
Watching the fan blades go around and around
Reflecting on my Grandmother's past
Wondering if she ever thought about me

What it would have been like
To have left this strong old farmhouse 
To have left these safe ancestral lands
For the biggest of the big cities...
And then to have decided to come back.


 
(January 27, 2011  Wausau, Wisconsin)

(c) Copyright 2011 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved
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