Today’s poem is a meditation on a patchwork quilt, written years ago when I started a ‘poetry blog’. I’m not even going to link to that blog, which flailed about for a bit and then stopped, but I’m still proud of some of the poems there, and will be moving them in here bit by bit. I’ve tweaked this one a little because the scansion wasn’t quite right. Some of it is still not quite right, but I think that expresses the rustic charm of a patchwork quilt made from scraps.
Patchwork’s the craft of rescuing dreams,
a fabric of memories fastened in seams,
where old is not worthless and scraps are not poor,
where awkward shapes fit and where less can be more.
A conglomeration, collection, selection
of numerous oddities viewed with affection.
The disparate cloths to the right and the left
now match in bright harmonies found in the weft
and whether the eye traces high up or down
a hanky may sit indistinct from a gown.
Each chosen and precious, the pieces all share
a holy identity through being there
The kingdom of heaven’s all over the place:
wrapped in a quilt lies an image of Grace.