I don’t know whose hands stitched this frayed beauty.
There is no name, no date, not even initials,
though there is definitely evidence of use,
and, as I choose to believe,
Now that I’m living squarely on the finite side of infinity,
I find myself wanting to create a tangible legacy
a way for the kids to remember me.
Having had no career
having become no expert
having received no honors
or gold watches,
these little Hymns of Cloth I stitch
seem of vital importance.
Maybe not to my children, though.
Making labels for each Hymn of Cloth
is on my list for 2015 anyway.
Just in case.