Quilted Love

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