my mother makes quilts

she gives them to people she loves

she works on them for hours on end

growing them, getting to know them, every stitch

she diligently picks patterns

matches solid colors that compliment the pattern on the opposite side

chooses a theme that suits the person who will receive it

watches true crime while she works

the dogs lay at her feet while she does so

her children weave in and out of her room every so often

the cats perch on a nearby ledge to be near her

she has so much on her mind always

she sews herself into her work

and then relinquishes them unto others

the lives those quilts must lead

the things those quilts have seen

the love those quilts have felt

how many people has her love warmed on a cold night?