The Artist

. . . the more I think it over, the more I feel that there is nothing more truly artistic than to love people. ~ Vincent van Gogh


"I love you more than you can know,"
Grandma brushes my hair from my face
at our final greeting.


And still, at night I sleep beneath
thousands of tiny white stitches
run from needles held
by Grandma and her friends
on Tuesdays in Arkansas.


I curl beneath scenes of appliqué children,
each with a companion: the worms in a corn can,
the kite, the frog in the pocket,
the Bible with the girl in Sunday best--
the indignities of sleep swathed
beneath a drool-stained hem,
beneath thread-bare trousers
and raveling dresses
whose soft fabric was salvaged
by one who never forgot the Depression.


Isn't this what we ask for--to leave,
with help from our own Tuesday Ladies,
some substance of our love?