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  • Writer's pictureCatherine L. Haws

Quilted Globe

The gallery even smells like quilts.

I stand before my mother’s own handiwork

Displayed on the wall,

When I hear a commotion to the left

At the white block pedestal labeled

“Please, do not touch.”

Two white-haired ladies peer at

The sphere

The first gawking at the flying geese

The second picking up the ball!

And explaining how she made it.

Some glue here, some pins there, some stitches between

“Just a bunch of scraps.”

Appalled, the first lady scolds,

“It is NOT just a bunch of scraps!”

I drift near

divining the poinsettia center button

Came from Morocco

And the core of the globe

Light foam.

The first lady gives me a

Conspiratorial glance

“The hardest part,” she says

“Is finding the idea.”

And I think,

How God must delight

Watching us admire

The scraps.

Above: The Globe

Below: My Mom's quilt


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