Once an anniversary
we make chains
a continual linking
in the river of time
Changes made
on top of changes
the story pauses
and then writes itself again
Throughout the year
I carry the basket of my burdens
and empty them into emblazoned colors
black triangles
red stars
gold lightning
multicolored branches
There they rest,
remnants of stories
too intimate
to speak
Day 1: Wedding Day
Standing before a door that goes somewhere, a door we have chosen together. The immaculate fabric of our future is rolled out before us, untouched and tender as snow, too perfect and precious to begin– but we must. So we make our first meandering footsteps through the vast expanse of white and blue, and it will never be blank again. These stitches, like all action that came before and after, can never be undone. And I already feel myself slipping down the waterfall, the river of time, and I am powerless–except to begin–and then, to keep going.Day 1: As I write, He writes. As He writes, I write. From left to right, back and forth again, a new star is being born through a gesture of traversing.
Day 21
Day 21: The quilt appears in a glass case.Other pieces of memory appear alongside the quilt, including Time Capsule to Furthest Husband and First Meeting From Both Perspectives
On day 212 we had a gathering at Sheldon’s ancestral homestead in Enfield, CT, to celebrate our marriage. The wedding quilt had its own special tent and became a meeting ground for loved ones and guests. We invited them to each embroider a star and sign their names as contributors. Our hands with the stars my father added to the quilt
