Posted in Memoir, Poetry, Quilting

you once could

piecing together scraps
the sewing machine silent
the wall between.
looking at the desk disturbs
the vision of curling up
as a hedgehog protecting itself.
the crying is all inside.
the solar flowers, hit by the sun,
clap their hands.
there is peace for them.
then i think “go for a walk.”
or “go in your garden.”

What is wrong? It hurts to wonder why.