Months pass, carefully hand stitching,
convex to concave, each fine seam.
This German woman prides in her work.
Searching though scraps saved from years
of sewing for children, grandchildren;
she cuts the shapes needed for each block.
Mother gently touches the fabric from
dresses worn as a child. We wonder why
this was used twice, others just once.
A sociable woman, how Hanna loves
chatting on that candlestick telephone.
Hands always sewing; time never wasted.
There is not enough green for the gently curved
pieces that pull together the beauty of the whole.
It’s difficult finding more in a small 1920s town.
The quilt appraiser notes the substitution,
perhaps a later dye lot. A valuable quilt,
I’m told. Completely hand made.
Top finished at last, women gather around the
frame that great grandfather built. Conversation
is lively as fingers fly. The quilting soon done.
Her friends admire the unusual design. Four muslin
patches alternating with five calico. Each surrounded
by a ring, making the border a series of crescents.
Grandmother’s gift hanging on my wall.
Sewing machine whirs, stitching fabric
bought, not saved. Quilting a new tradition.
© 1998 Anne Johnson
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