My father told me that his grandmother, Minnie, used to
make quilts. They were not art, he assured me, just made up of
snippets of old clothes , so as not to waste fabric and used to keep
warm. He remembers one, he says, all in grays and blacks and plaids.
Not art, he says, not meant to be beautiful.
Sounds like beauty to me. Maybe even art...
Friday, December 17, 2010
haiku for Walter
note to my brother
when you were still in the world
my heart was lighter
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