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.
