Mother's Quilt

I took her clothes; I cut them piece by piece
in the tiny patterns to be, from her soul,
woven razors in dainty hankies
for every tear that touched her cheek,
reminding me of a golden locket
where she kept her potted rouge, it sheds colors
of reddened haze that makes my heart bleed,
I cast the batting, stitch by stitch she had shown me;
my mother’s quilt, I reach for it in comfort,
it is a treasure, I hold it at times – I fall asleep.