Remember that colorful, dingy quilt we could never throw away? A dreary diet of winter nights ate away its warmth until all that remained: a rainbow of rags. Written on every patch a pattern of family history. It’s easy to empathize with faded and frayed, A unique, mosaic of faces, places, mistakes, haphazardly sewn together. The pretentiously pink square inherited from the grandma we never met. The tear, a hasty repair, post tug-of-war with our labrador— may she rest in peace. A moldy coffee stain disfigures an innocent magnolia, bears witness of a fearful, feverish night in which—I’ve been told— I participated, but all I have is physical evidence.
