The Quilt

Poetry
Ruth Malins


Twisted fingers,
that couldn’t even
pick up a teacup,
placed the first stitch
in a quilt that would cover lifetimes.

Needles seesawing
from the past to the future
pierced holes in folklore,
sutured sorrow,
bound history and hysteria
with satin sensibility.
A mundane task
like all the others
they performed.

Each night, when I draw that quilt
around me, I’m comforted
by the hands of so many women
I never knew.

pencil

“At 59 and having recently rediscovered my ‘inner artist,’ I am having the best time of my life writing poetry and painting. Who says life begins at 40? I even still play softball when I’m not at work protecting the environment.” E-mail: RuthHVA[at]aol.com.

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