Woven with threads of time, the family quilt holds more than just fabric, it carries the warmth of generations. Hands may change, grow, or vanish, but their imprints remain, a living story woven in cloth. It is more than a blanket, it is history, comfort, and home.

Hand to cloth tracing

fingers long and short.

No such thing as a neat line

when tracing hands that lend support.

 

With each new year,

some are new, some return,

and some never again appear,

no matter how much we might yearn.

 

Hands that hug with care

and roll cookies for baking.

Fingers that braid hair

and wipe tears when you’re aching.

 

But these memories never fade,

when hands are placed in outlines that stayed.


Submitted: February 05, 2025

© Copyright 2025 Madi Whinery. All rights reserved.

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Bert Broomberg

A really enjoyable poem. I like the imagery.

Wed, February 5th, 2025 3:05pm

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