Poetry

Caper's Poets

Quilts, Flags, and other Wrappings — Sergio A. Ortiz

I started the quilt
when the only reminder
of civility I had was a stuffed doll
whose stitches came undone
under the weight of my books.

I sewed while bathing
under the moon’s eclipse,
watched him throw porcelain spoons,
gifts I collected, against the wall
as I added more pieces.

I stopped stitching
when he drove a bulldozer
in sight of all those present
at Jose’s welfare funeral.

I stared at the tangled patches
as they threw me into a paddy wagon,
took me to jail for protesting
an unwinnable war.

I got close as he lay in bed
covered with Kaposi’s sarcoma.

I studied him when a signature
to keep his brother from becoming homeless
made him quiver, shake, and think

about the funeral’s expense if he died
while the blotch of fake endearment on the piece
of white insignificance was still there.

Then. . . I quilted the names.

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Filed under: Issue 3, Sergio A. Ortiz,

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