Quilts Poem by grace mariner

I have watched as my mothers quilt unraveled.
Dark and drab.
No brightness, no reminders of happier days.
Rough and scratchy, damaged before it was ever completed.
As it unraveled, there should be joy for the chance to cast it away
Not with her.
She held those rags closer than she ever held her babies.
No idea that the power to shed that shabby garment dwelt
within her.
She never clicked her ruby slippers.
Easier for her to stay in her burial shroud.
The risk was too great.
And as her mind unraveled, the names of the ones who loved her in spite of herself, fell away.
But the remnants of that quilt and its maker, like her tongue, stayed as sharp as the blade of a knife.
Able to cut with the precision of a surgeon the most tender parts
and to smile at the damage it inflicted, all the while hiding under her rotting, unraveling quilt.
She tried to leave me the legacy but I made sure she took it with her when she went.
I refused to carry her damage.
I had lived with it long enough.
And as stupid as you thought I was,
and all of the disappointments I caused you,
I am stronger from your abuse and neglect.
I thank you for that and my heart hurts for an unhappy life wasted
I wont carry the quilt you made me.