Yesterday’s poem about stitches made me think of my mom. She was a passionate quilter. Lots of rustic ones, occasional fancy ones, a few tied ones. We have about 20. After retirement, her Quilt Guild (I didn’t even know there was such a thing) was such a joy for her. My dad is quite antisocial, and keeping couples friends was difficult. He put everyone off eventually. But Mom’s quilting friends were just hers. They met weekly. They went on bus trips to small towns to see quilt exhibits. They put together their own quilt shows, often at malls. I could always hear a smile in Mom’s voice when she talked about them, laughing about the kindness, the sometimes pettiness, the politics (Mom wanted no part of that). But it was a great support for her.
After she passed in 2016, quilts and birds became symbols of Mom for me. At the Minnesota State Fair, which is a big honking deal, the quilt exhibit almost brought me to tears. And when I went into a little diner in a small town for breakfast alone once, on a writing retreat, a group of 5 women came in and ate together. They laughed and talked quilting and life for the next hour, and I felt like my mom would’ve fit right in. I’m so glad my mom had that kind of support. Here’s today’s poem.
Here’s an image of more of that quilt.
Thanks for reading, and if you want to see more of my National Poetry Month poems, click here.
One Response
Laura, I have been keeping up with your skinny poem project through Instagram. I marvel each time with how much can be said in such few words. And here this tribute to your mother and her quilting group. Our mothers are connected to us always.