notes in denim pockets
Each patch was stitched in love
and the material held stories, woven with blue threads
Deep within buttoned pockets
Mother and Daughter had hidden notes.
Pastel coloured and written with a dark pen.
“I love you” with a heart for the O
and others told me to do things that would make me feel special
Rules were made
I must open a pocket a day
but like a child on Christmas morning I opened them all at once
and pinned them to my cork board
On days that I hid inside, locked in the prison of mind with tears running down making puddles on my pillow
I would count the notes
each was reason to keep going, to keep trying
I think when she made the quilt she knew
it had weight to it
that would keep me warm that awful cold winter
it had satin flowers and embroidered fairies that I would run my fingers along when I was too weak to open my eyes
Today I stumbled upon a photo, shoulders frail and fingers pale and wiry holding polka-dot mug
it all came back
they nights I lay in suffering on the bathroom floor
waiting for my father to lay me rest
selfish thoughts of satisfaction
Today I shed tears and reclaimed my quilt
hating the cold girl who used to lay beneath it, thinking only of herself
and not of the ones who mean most
I will never again be the cold hated girl
Tonight I say prayer for a woman lying in a hospice
her life is not her choice
but held to firmly by disease
a cancer eating her from the inside.
I know she keeps a smile on her face and has warm hugs to go around.
Thank you Lord, for a mother who sews quilts with love and prayers to girl in hospice, may she come to know you.