Written by Lori Carlson
My grandmother’s patchwork quilt, so heavy and so weighted
With the voices of memory and all the choices at that age
That I didn’t get to make, the fabrics now so dated
Look! There’s my orange paisley dress that felt like freedom at 6.
So desperate to grow up and fit in and write my own page
Of the story, though not yet knowing myself or who I would/could be
That woman took me to see A Hard Day’s Night!
In my homemade dress with matching scarf on my head
Made by my mother with love,
Amidst the so cool teenage girls clad in jeans, all screaming in synchronicity so Loud!!
They’re a part of the fabric now, that excitement, the thrill, the noise, the fright!
They Didn’t ruffle my grandmother’s cool and I was so proud
As it felt like we were breaking all the rules and stepping out
Into a new world still finding its form
still unsure of what it was all about
with open mouthed awe, at being there at all,
So young and feeling so grown up
I had That first taste of freedom’s call.
As I lie beneath it at night now, I see her cutting and sewing so patiently
The squares of fabric that once were my favorite dress or my sister’s robe
And with a sigh, I feel the comforting weight of all those panty hose she wore and then saved
To fill each square with memories of days gone by
The patterns of our history, of a life led and now remembered so fondly
Grateful for those lessons of love, and those memories so rich
with moments of freedom and growth that they still keep me warm
in the midst of life’s storms
as I look back with a smile and snuggle in.