above my bed there hangs a quilt
of mostly shining silk
made by my grandmother
from pieces of dresses, scarves and ties
made with farmer’s hands
strong fingers
that could stitch
until the light of day moved to darkness
many squares from many lives
energy left from countless moments
holding times of joy and sadness
squares from old worn material

above my bed there hangs a quilt
of bold designs and faded pastels
when i lie down and sink into my body
everything moves to quiet and gone
the quilt doesn’t know this
doesn’t know that i am there
i listen to the words of the pieces
thoughts of ties, scarves, dresses
my grandmother’s loving eyes are there
my grandfather’s sweat lingers
different shades resurrected
worn water colors
flow into a magnificent pastiche
reflecting several decades
a melange of many moods

the treasure was handed to me in an old plastic bag
when it touched my hand
it became an heirloom
she smiled as she handed it to me
“i have only one request—
no cat shall sleep on it.”
the next evening
when the quilt covered my bed
our cat, Lacey,
already claimed it as her own