By Britney Wells
December twenty-fifth,
and the quilt you tenderly
assembled, handstitched
all summer, fall, wrapped
and the quilt you tenderly
assembled, handstitched
all summer, fall, wrapped
in bows in a canopy of red
paper, regrettably spread
too close to the flame, tall
on the edge of the table,
paper, regrettably spread
too close to the flame, tall
on the edge of the table,
sending plumes of smoke
heavenward like death
in the living room, rising
to the tune of O Holy Night,
heavenward like death
in the living room, rising
to the tune of O Holy Night,
necessitating a glorious
morn of mending: removing
the burnt blue with silver
scissors, sewing whole
morn of mending: removing
the burnt blue with silver
scissors, sewing whole
each hole with tiny needles,
meticulous reparations,
a weary world of fingers,
tears, furrowed brows,
meticulous reparations,
a weary world of fingers,
tears, furrowed brows,
resuscitating shape and form,
forgiving the candle’s
transgression with every
swoop and pull of thread,
forgiving the candle’s
transgression with every
swoop and pull of thread,
falling on knees to mourn
my carelessness with your soft
offering, humble in the holy
refuge of its warmth.
my carelessness with your soft
offering, humble in the holy
refuge of its warmth.
Britney Wells is a returning BYU student majoring in English.
