In honor of Mother’s Day this weekend, here’s another assignment from my long-ago poetry class in college.
I wish I had a photo of the subject of this piece, but a quick glance hasn’t found anything. In any case, I think (or hope) that the description does it justice.
My mom, bless her heart, is a quilter. She’s taught me her mad skillz — to a certain extent — but she’s still much more advanced than I am in the sense of actually seeing projects through to completion. She makes quilts for new grandnieces and nephews, and even done a few pieces on commission. My favorite that she’s made is the one she put together for my graduation from high school. It’s big enough to be a bedspread, and since she put flannel on the back of it, I often use that way. The pattern is pinwheels on the front piece, and she used all vintage-looking fabrics reminiscent of the 1940s, which were really popular when I was a teenager.
It wasn’t a coincidence that she gave it to me right before I headed across the country for college. She was fine with it, since I was attending her alma mater, and I was at first — until I had a massive meltdown on the first day of freshman orientation. There were a number of things that comforted me — including reruns of “Friends,” since they were the same in both places, after all — but the quilt my mom made for me was one of the best ones.
And now, I’ll just let the poem speak for me. Happy Mother’s Day, you fabulous Angela Petrelli look-alike.
***
Eden
As usual, she began this creation
Behind schedule: a carefully planted
Plot of flannel and cotton,
Received just a little late,
A flowing checkerboard
Of rose and bluebell and lilac.
Golden pinwheels twirl sun spots
Skittering and dancing across its surface.
Cut and basted, stitched and batted –
She labored over this fabric,
Embossing it with daisies
Stemming from white thread.
At bedtime I slip under this garden
Of blooms. Even though I’m so far
From home, she still manages to
Keep me safe and warm.
ven’t been updating this as much as I’d like. But as I’ve been watching the fallout from the earthquake in Haiti, I’ve been reminded—as we all have—of the various disasters of the past decade. Last night’s celebrity-studded telethon reminded me of the tsunami in late 2004, and the images of the destruction are of course reminiscent of Sept. 11. But what has struck me about this situation, as with the others, is how we manage to rise to the occasion and take care of our fellow human beings. (No comment on Hurricane Katrina.)
I’m really not a creative writer. Assignments and deadlines are what make me tick, which is why I typically cover newsy things. But for one semester in college, I gave it a try. Michael McFee, a great poet in his own right, teaches poetry writing at Carolina, so I decided to take it. It was challenging, but enjoyable. I pretty much discovered that I don’t have the patience…or maybe even the artistic mind…to write poetry all that often. But for 16 weeks, I did, and I came up with some stuff that I like even now.
I believe in defying expectations.
