Treasured

This is the second quilt I made for one of my daughters.  She picked out several fat quarters and I made this patchwork square throw quilt for her.  She is a down-to-earth girl and loves the outdoors and simple style.  I love the backing with is the polka dots and I had it long arm quilted with a swirling circular vine pattern. I have the binding yet to do.  

Treasured

My youngest still likes hugs and kisses,
not in public, but allowed behind closed doors.
Sometimes he forgets, holds my hand
as we walk sidewalk or street; almost brings me to tears.

Perhaps little boy sweetness lingers a bit longer,
as my girls flirted with independence
far too early.

Yet I've found a way to wrap myself around them -
carefully choose color and pattern,
piece and pin often past midnight,
prayerfully secure layers with flourishes of design ...

an heirloom perhaps, worn-out, treasured,
maybe bring tears to their eyes
knowing they are loved.

by Margaret Bednar, August 3, 2018

"Heatwave"- a poem that gives a slight nod to quilts

Heatwave

A fever oscillates across my skin
swigs stamina and strength from my bones,
yet offers no toast to acknowledge my hospitality.

I'm just "southern" enough
to graciously welcome unwanted guests,
find beauty in wilting leaves

bowing temporarily to a stronger force;

enjoy the ballet of grandmother's quilt
as it lifts a corner,
flutters gracefully as fever exhales;

imagine I'm a bartender
serving shots during happy hour,
carefully pour each living thing a drink -

temperance observed;

join the hens in a silent brooding,
thankful the border collie
rallies strength to scan for the devil;

look forward to the lick of night
when the visitor rests
and the yellow haze behind my eyelids

finally fades to black.

by Margaret Bednar

"The Quilt" a poem

The Quilt

One of life's simple pleasures
is the smell of butterflies and clover,
of sunshine after spring showers -

of capturing the day with a clothespin
and wrapping oneself up with it for the night.

by Margaret Bednar 

Granny's Quilt - a poem

Granny's Quilt

Irregular became Granny's hand,
determined patience its guide,

feedsacks, old shirts lovingly pieced together
upon cabin porch's worn cane-bottom chair.

"Stitching prayers" she'd say,

sewing a bit long, a bit ragged.  Well house,
wash tub, clucking chickens before us,

my eyes bright, hers dimmed. Quietly vibrant her voice,
warning me of life's twists and turns.

Spellbound I sat, watching snarled fingers
create Puritan Stars to wrap about my shoulders,

"To protect you from the wolves of life" -

faith-filled blessings forever guiding,
forever nurturing all my days.

by Margaret Bednar

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This is my first post for this new quilting blog "Of Gimcracks, Garnishes & Gild".