Submitted to Poets United #355
I’ve a quilt of many colors my mother gave to me
She lovingly caressed it as she told its history.
“These pieces”, she said with quivering voice,
“Are from my grandmother’s dress.
I made it in her memory, after she’d been laid to rest.”
I looked at the quilt of colors my mother so carefully made.
Life’s like the quilt, I thought to myself, with pieces painstakingly laid.
Some colors are bright and happy, others are dark and sad
And the way we arrange the pieces reflects the life we’ve had.
I love my quilt of colors and display it with very great pride.
It’s more than a piece of fabric, it makes me feel good inside.
Very aware of my heritage and my place in the scheme of things.
We’re all keepers of memories, whether we’re paupers or kings.
As my mother passed on the memories of her grandmother to me
So I’ll entrust the memories to my daughter too, you see
She, in turn, will pass them on in an endless living chain
And the hopes and dreams of our ancestors
Will live again and again.
As those before, so those to come
Will encounter both joy and strife
And each generation be given the chance
To piece the quilt of life.