Turning a Row

I attend to a display book of
quilters’ life work, wondering—

how love inscribes its wanderings
in patterns in a Blocks and Strips sheening,

its Sears’ corduroy complementary colors,
blazoned on blue, expresses what I wished

on last night’s slew of stars.
Friend, time is shorter, and all

I want to do is make myself useful.
Toiling calls for a yearning

beyond predictable change—
harrowed in all ways—

May such memory remnants find a purpose,
warmth and shelter become

beautiful, with imbuement—
an image of one soul turning to another.

One, in Housetop style,
from sky-view, reveals

a grid of nestled square cut-outs
from out of its maker’s clothes,
her own head-scarf at the center,
radiating a sunrise
moistening rays over rows,
like the time I said, Dad, I love you,
pieced to his, the feeling is mutual—
a beginning turning to an end.