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Rated: E · Poetry · Family · #1342526
A poem about my traits, good and bad.
We gather frequently, quilts
from a pair of threads entwined-
smiling, laughing, arguing, fighting
along our stranded relationships,
loving even more for the same reason.

Introspection serves us well.
We tease each other,
unraveling this mysterious family fabric
but more importantly the self-
seeing what we want more or sometimes less.

Looking closely I see a maternal warp,
DNA unyielding, unchanging-
humor I am helpless to stifle.
I will no doubt die laughing at myself, someone or something
but, whatever it is, I will snicker, giggle, guffaw.

Yet another maternal twist of fate has woven
into me long yards of memory for fighting unfairly,
chewed off by a biting sarcasm.  Drawn up to my full height
and spewing fury, I will have the last word, biting as far up as I can reach. 
It isn’t far, thank you, Mother, but it is farther than you can bite!

Squares of diabetes, sleepless nights and
perpetual fatigue, line my quilt,
woven by generations of errant endocrine systems.
Ripping them out will only disintegrate me,
shredding me into tiny, useless strings.

I collect my thoughts and other things
to touch, see and hold.  Bunnies collect,
quivering under the bed, hiding like the good intentions
I hoard.  My first collection the C chromosomes,
one from each parent- a double dose of that, no doubt!

I look closely at the fabric of this quilt called Me.  There-
a warp of my father- faithful, lover of plants and animals.
My first spoken word reflects that same animal attraction.
Dogs- and faith- will always border my quilt
as will that paternally-endowed stubborn stripe I sport. 

I draw the quilt closer still, seeking yet more
from the stitched squares, the keeper of my code.
Ah, there, fingers not my own, left to me by chance,
creating, sewing, painting, interpreting their owner’s world.
I thank the contributors to my Lucky Star Quilt for that!

So, I am a calico quilt of good and bad
as able to change my fabric as a leopard
can sport zebra stripes, but,
as long as I live, so shall my parents.
As long as my son breathes…  so  shall  I.
© Copyright 2007 KatiMiller (katimiller at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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