by poet1108 » Fri Feb 10, 2012 3:03 pm
DOLL 'N QUILT-TOP MAKER
She gazed out her sewing room window at the almost cloudless blue sky
The setting sun, with its red and orange colors, meant nighttime was nigh.
She watched as that sinking sun, its colors so varied and a great delight,
was now being hidden by mountains because of their awesome height.
From her window nook in that sewing room, she was taking a short break
for it was by the hours that in her solitude quilt-tops she now did make.
Her thoughts took her back to the day on a whim when she had prayed,
asking her Father God to give her some reason why in this life she stayed.
She was sent once more on a mission for books she knew that she’d find
Packed in a box in her closet—ones that of her late Mom they’d remind.
Pensively sitting on her bed, as pages in the old books she slowly turned,
came flashbacks of Mom at a sewing machine—days for which she yearned.
Mom had been a doll and quilt maker; for many years much joy did she find
creating Tell-A-Story dolls and quilts, each one unique and one of a kind.
With the books clasped to her breast, she prayed to her Heavenly God above,
“Am I to continue Mom’s legacy creating dolls ‘n quilts filled with Your Love?”
Yet disappointment came when she attempted to imitate her mother’s work.
In turning the little sewn pieces, her own arthritic hands were clumsy and hurt!
Not to be daunted by this failure, on the Internet a search for patterns began.
Several were found and with some modification, she could visualize His plan!
Scraps of fabric arrived by the boxes full, as He knew of her monetary need.
With grateful heart she accepted these gifts—which there came no greed.
It took some effort but she, at long last, was able to call forth an artistic side.
Each painted face had its own personality and all had a smile—quite wide!
Waiting on a table were stacks of faces, heads, arms, legs, and bodies sewn.
Each soft body was stuffed with polyester, until firm to the touch it had grown.
Tousled yarn wigs, in all different colors, seemed to be the order of the day.
Some dolls had curls, pony tails, and braids because orderliness was her way.
From the fabrics she created each outfit—each one different from another.
Yet when finished, each doll similarly sat—looking like a sister or brother.
She felt her love going into the dolls and moreover seemingly part of His plan,
A little red heart was carefully stitched onto the palm of the doll’s left hand.
After the doll was completed and carefully inspected, she gave it a tearful hug.
With a story she’d written, into a baggie she placed both, resting snug as a bug.
Sack after sack was delivered to those “angels” who worked with the abused.
For each child she wanted a new doll to love and one that had not been used.
Since that day long ago when her mission began in that simple sewing nook,
She’d captured and saved the images of each little doll in her memory book.
The size of the dolls somehow varied—the big, the little and some in between.
Yet within each one of the dolls, her mother’s legacy continued to be seen.
With unforeseeable circumstances, her living conditions had been changed.
At last count, at least four times the little sewing nook had been rearranged.
As she now looked around her at her newest sewing nook, she was most able
to feel thankfulness for her hubby Roger for this beautiful homemade table.
Her doll making had long been replaced as quilt-top-blankets took their place.
From two elderly women, their boxes of colorful fabric put a smile on her face.
Strips of fabric she cut and strips of fabric she sewed, watching colors blend
as she went round and round the center piece, from the beginning to the end.
As those sewn fabric strips dwindled, the stack of quilt-tops began to grow
How many were given to local seniors? She lost count—with more to sew.
And while she has carried many titles to roles she’s enacted in her lifetime
that of Doll and Quilt Maker she carries in her Heavenly stairway climb.
Poet1108--Kay A Davis
