The
Red and White Afghan
It was frilled
with cottony yarn,
cream colored
with a tight-weave collage:
images of teddy
bears and drummer boys.
Each red square
of the mini-quilt sewn
with colored
thread and memories
from my own
childhood. When I bought it,
how could the
store clerk have known that,
with a
made-in-China sticker-tag stitched
to its edge,
that this afghan would stay
the chills that
Momma got on lonely nights?
She had many of
them in her eighty-third year.
She must have
shared the comfort looming
from the
patchwork toys with her memories.
The yellow,
green and blue ABC blocks
stacked next to
a soldier’s drum. I wonder
if she felt its
beat when she wrapped herself
in its fabric.
My arms were still too far away.
She couldn’t
wait until I came home
from the war.
Sis held me in
her arms, the red and white
afghan clutched
in her hands, a silver strand
still hanging.
still hanging.