Hand-Me Down

Nine-patch, maple leaf, bowtie, flying geese and wedding ring

in squares and neat hand stiches

packed away in trunks and closet shelves

to be handed down, mother to daughter to grand-daughter

but sometimes

the hours of love and labor are tossed away,

sent to resale shops and auctions

and the history is broken.

Who made this one with its carefully stitched outlines and patterns?

Where did she live and were her eyes still sharp as she plied her needle

to make the tiny, even stitches?

Years and years later, when the quilt comes into my hands,

her stitches hold, outlasting some of the fabric that has given in to time

and loosed its threads in ravels of color.

From me, the tradition starts anew.

The quilt will pass from grandmother to granddaughter

and perhaps become the treasured gift

its maker intended it to be.


About grannysu

storyteller, writer, poet, gardener, countrywoman
This entry was posted in A River of Stones, Appalachian, aros, short poems. Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to Hand-Me Down

  1. Mamabug says:

    This was such a beautiful poem. Old quilts are such timeless treasures to be passed on and enjoyed.

  2. You bring tears to my eyes with this entry. I have many of my mother’s quilts and only since she has passed away do I really really appreciate them. I look at them and see all the hours that were spent creating them.
    Yes, I hope and praty my daughter’s and granddaughter,
    appreciate these works of art….

  3. Beautiful. Love quilts and this was another perspective on the life of a quilt.
    Almost from the eyes of the quilt.
    Blessings, Barb

  4. Wordsmiths says:

    Very nice images in this.

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