They hadn't slept tangled under the same cotton for years ---
she'd howled without a sound in the empty queen
in the spare for years, door and soul locked hard---
and when the ache had hollowed her all out,
Mama filled the nights with piecing
shorn threads together, thin, fragile stitches, needle piercing,
and I watched when she laid the last of the color patches
out on black sky.
When she had it all laid out, how could I not read
what she was crying with thread?
That block pattern they call Log Cabin,
Mama's brazenly made with black patches in the center, like
cratered homes, bombed,
and the way her eyes would look up from
prophetic stitches, begging my blessing,
so, really, there was no surprise, just this
spurting heart hemorrhage,
when she abandoned the pieced top at the quilter's and drove away
down graveled road, abandoning her black house in dust cloud
filling my mouth.
The surprise came years later, after the divorce
when another woman left towels on the queen in the spare
and laid in the master with him,
and Mama handed me a bag, the remains,
the forgotten pieced top she'd asked the quilter to dig out, remains excavated,
to quilt up however she wanted, gift for me,
and the quilter arrived with the patches folded in arm on Christmas Eve,
and Mama stood beside me while I unfurled it and all those memories,
and we ran fingers across threads and found
words, words made with threads, words that shimmered in black sky...
words that read, across one edge, How to be Happy
sing... pray... look for beauty... be kind.... forgive...
give much... expect little
live your life with love... do as you would have done
keep your heart free from worry... your mind free from hate
a life manual stitched through remains
And Mama kept shaking her head, that God and the quilter
would redeem the charred ruins, beauty to lay on a marriage bed, hope,
and I kept tracing the heart stitches around
gold cross that no one can remember piecing, hope,
and I whispered no, I could never sleep wrapped in it, but to hang the happiness
manual in the hall, before the coming and the going,
so before you put on your coat and walked out the door
you could read the writing on the wall.
Tell everyone you meet what He has done!
Sing Him songs, belt out hymns, translate His wonders into music!
Honor His holy name with Hallelujahs, you who seek God.
Live a happy life!
Keep your eyes open for God, watch for his works;
be alert for signs of his presence.
Psalm 105:1
Photos: Mama's pieced quilt, the Happiness Manual, hanging in our front hall
Posted for L.L.'s prompt, to consider our hall
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