Draped over a dowel
in a tiny antique store,
a white linen tablecloth
worn soft with washing,
embroidered white-on-white,
buttonhole stitches precise,
an intricate design
of roses and twining vines.
I cradled it to my face
Castile soap, line-dried
and knew her in this piece.
I saw her busy day
hanging laundry, pulling weeds
enfolding tiny hands to lead
a child to bed, brush a tear,
kiss a cheek, say a prayer.
I saw her at twilight
In her rocking chair,
linen on her lap, sewing
her heart within a hoop
with thimble, needle, thread.
Slipped from its destiny
this cloth was her legacy
made to be passed
from daughter to daughter,
used until it tattered
sewn at last into
Teddy bears and collars,
an heirloom to carry
her bittersweet memory
ingrained in its last frayed fiber.
Author Bio:
Nancy Gustafson has published poetry, memoirs and short stories. She writes to express her gratitude for her life, family and faith. She writes to work out her thoughts and is often surprised by what appears on the paper. Nancy is retired from Sam Houston State University, where she worked as a program coordinator in the Correctional Management Institute of Texas at the George J. Beto Criminal Justice Center. She and her husband, Jan, live on a farm in Huntsville, Texas, where you may find her in the kitchen, the garden, or at her desk. She loves to write, read, visit with her children, and snuggle babies.
in a tiny antique store,
a white linen tablecloth
worn soft with washing,
embroidered white-on-white,
buttonhole stitches precise,
an intricate design
of roses and twining vines.
I cradled it to my face
Castile soap, line-dried
and knew her in this piece.
I saw her busy day
hanging laundry, pulling weeds
enfolding tiny hands to lead
a child to bed, brush a tear,
kiss a cheek, say a prayer.
I saw her at twilight
In her rocking chair,
linen on her lap, sewing
her heart within a hoop
with thimble, needle, thread.
Slipped from its destiny
this cloth was her legacy
made to be passed
from daughter to daughter,
used until it tattered
sewn at last into
Teddy bears and collars,
an heirloom to carry
her bittersweet memory
ingrained in its last frayed fiber.
Author Bio:
Nancy Gustafson has published poetry, memoirs and short stories. She writes to express her gratitude for her life, family and faith. She writes to work out her thoughts and is often surprised by what appears on the paper. Nancy is retired from Sam Houston State University, where she worked as a program coordinator in the Correctional Management Institute of Texas at the George J. Beto Criminal Justice Center. She and her husband, Jan, live on a farm in Huntsville, Texas, where you may find her in the kitchen, the garden, or at her desk. She loves to write, read, visit with her children, and snuggle babies.
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