The stained glass coverlet,
Crocheted from remnant yarns,
Was untouched by his apartment fire.
I remember when she
Created this masterpiece,
My son’s grandmother, my husband’s mom.
The parallelogram
Patterns, four-sided squares,
Some fat, some lean, different colors;
His name ran down the middle,
“K E I T H.”
Exquisite in charm and of beauty.
She crocheted so fast
In days of our past.
On a recent visit
To Tennessee, I found
The salvaged piece of art she had made.
It made days of old appear
When he was young and near.
Youth has been swallowed up
Matured him-on his own.
And now life begins a new cycle.
His childhood afghan
Unveiled to me these truths.
I couldn’t put it away while there.
I remembered how I miss those days.
I’ll hold him as a toddler in my heart always.
Carol D. Meeks
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/stained-glass-memories/
