"I am hearing poetry when awake, dreaming poetry when asleep, breathing poetry with each breath, I am living in a poem."

Thursday, October 26, 2017

Quilt


I am quilted among stars,
a spirit of many colors
birth stitched from
first cry to my autumn
walk through graying years.

I am my mother’s cotton print,
my father’s grease stained denim,
the torn corduroy of play grounds.

I wear rebellion, compassion,
spontaneity, art, on a body
swimming against the
falling leaves of calendar pages.

I am a quilt I will never finish,
a thinning thread spool stitching
moments on days until death
takes its needle and stitches me into dust.

©Susie Clevenger 2017

9 comments :

Kim Russell said...

Wonderful, Susie! I especially love the lines:
'birth stitched from
first cry to my autumn
walk through graying years' and
'a thinning thread spool stitching
moments on days until death
takes its needle and stitches me into dust'.

Vivian Zems said...

'birth stitched from
first cry to my autumn'
You had me with this line. Beautiful.

Toni Spencer said...

I love the thoughts of you being a quilt that is never finished. I feel the same way. I have a quilt made by me mother which she finished the day my father died. It is a lovely thing as is your poem. "until death takes its needle and stitches me into dust". Wonderful line.

brudberg said...

This is outstanding... such a wonderful metaphor of being a quilt. All those patches of past making us human. Some are part silk other dirty denim... yet we all become a patchwork

angieinspired said...

beautiful as ever Susie. You wear the coat well.

Sherry Blue Sky said...

WOW! This is stellar work, Susie. The "spirit of many colors", the fabrics of your childhood memories, the quilt that will not be finished.........absolutely wonderful.

Margaret said...

I love me a great metaphor - Well done. Adore that second stanza and well - the whole quilted poem :)

Jazzbumpa said...

Wow
A whole life quilted in only a few strong stitches

and it's true we are still unfinished
even when we are done

namaste
JzB

Brendan MacOdrum said...

Wonderful conceit, that a life is a patchwork inheritance one stitches into dust.

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