Quilters

 Quilts

by Aurelia D Wallace

This one won't last-the great-aunt's wagged.

They jabbed their needles like voodoo ladies

Into white cotton batting soft as flesh of bride and groom,

Embroidered the names of wedding couple, date, and church

On squares of quilts that spoke the family lineage

(After the fire when Grandpa's Bible records burned)

How little they know each other-they predicted-

Him being married and divorced before and all-

Already planning in their auntly heads a prettier square

For the next more likely one; doom served gratis

In the patterned squares.

       For years we sweltered

Under quilts nobody wanted, dark with dire foretellings

From Aunt June, Aunt July, and Aunt Leo's kin.

When edges frayed, we lined dog's beds,

Covered sofas in the attic, took them to Goodwill.

In spite of aunts,

       we multiplied.

Now, six kids, eight miscarriages, three abortions, and

God knows how many near-misses later,

The grownup grandkids are having lettered

Silver trays with "Happy 50th, Mom and Dad"

That someone in a junkshop some day will pay a dollar for.

That is, till lately,

          after the aunts had died.

          -I still have the quilt.