Home-made,
something from the heart,
like the mittens with strings attached,
that my grandma threaded through my snowsuit sleeves
to keep them from being lost
like the faded blue quilt
she tucked around me at bedtime.
(Never again was a quilt
so comforting)
like the pink blanket
my mother knitted for my sister
that grew to twenty feet long
that my sister dragged around on the floor
till she was four,
when my grandma started
slowly snipping lengths
off of it
until it was four inches long,
and then,
forever lost
Home-made
like the drawings and cards
saved from little boys
who now live in the spirit world
to whom I never got to say
goodbye
Home-made
like the small heart my grandson left
in the dust on my daughter's printer
the week before he died,
to tell her he loved her,
still there, but fainter, now,
a message she wants
to stay forever
No purchased gift
can ever equal
these small gifts
from the heart
that we take for granted
until life shows us
how incomparable
they really are.
Precious...and they stay forever in our memory keeping us warm.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful poem, Sherry. I was especially moved by the blanket that kept losing inches & the heart drawn in dust!
ReplyDeleteIt sounds like you found a beautiful path even though you didn't know where you were going. I often feel the homemade treasures are the best. I still have a pink and white crochet blanket my grandmother made for me. It makes me think of her and all the love she put into it.
ReplyDeleteA beautiful poem with such heartfelt memories, Sherry. The heart drawn in dust growing fainter touches the core.
ReplyDeleteSuch tender memories and the essence of what home means - both sad and heart warming at the same time
ReplyDeleteYour poem reminded me of the items my grandmother made for us when we were little, Sherry – she taught me to knit. It brought back memories and a tear to my eye. And I also cherish cards and pictures from my grandsons.
ReplyDeleteI too had the quilt and afghan and mittens, but mine were from my mother. Grandmother was always too busy, but we touched hearts through her home made bread and pies! This poem is a gift, Sherry, thank you.
ReplyDeleteIdiot mittens! My maternal grandmother made me some too. One was a skink, black with a white stripe down the middle, with button eyes, and the other was a lamb, similar but gray with the same white stripe and a little red tongue. She was creative, doing animal sculptures (I still have the horse she made), puppets, the mittens, and a sock monkey I liked a lot.
ReplyDeleteskunk, not skink.
DeleteThey all sound adorable.
DeleteBeautiful memories in the gifts from your Grandma and the others. The heart drawn in the dust is very moving.
ReplyDeleteLots to find in common here. Particularly the mittens tied with strings so we couldn't lose them. How ingenious was that?!!
ReplyDeleteI find myself walking through memories a lot these days. The precious ones are priceless. Your mitten memory took me to the memory of stuffing my two little girls in snowsuits and hearing them rebel. :)
ReplyDeleteSuch touching and beautiful memories. It brings me right back I had these cords on my mittens as well and I also still have all these kids' drawings. The heart in the dust is so very moving
ReplyDelete