I was looking through some files—working on feng shu’ing my cyber life—and bumped into an erstwhile poem, “Quilt”, which I wrote on May 28, 2007 under my given name, two days after my birthday. I was attending a monthly book club back then and we were reading How to Make an American Quilt by Whitney Otto. The novel inspired me to write that poem which I’d almost forgotten about until today.

Seven years later, in 2014, I accidentally bumped into my poem on Black Threads’ website. I had no idea they’d posted my poem to their site. They gave me credit for it and linked to one of my stories, The Letters, that now exists under a different link on Amazon.

Reading my almost decade old poetry is a strange experience. It’s surreal.


The needle passes through your soul
Stitching together your thoughts and emotions
Slowly tying off the ends of your experiences
Binding together the things that try to fall apart

What began as a single entity with its own color and vibrancy
Now becomes part of a greater scheme or pattern
The personality of a single patch is meshed
Into an intricate web of many lives and deeds

Sometimes you can forget where you begin
And the other pattern ends
Do the borders change the story that is trying to be told?
Does life change the person that is trying to unfold?

A time capsule of many different intricacies
Spilling over decades of thread and cloth
Engulfed in a sea of pastels, earthtones, plaids and florals
Hoping for a colorfast life that does not bleed over

As your life hangs on a wall for all to see
You recall a time when your world didn’t seem so clustered
A book for all to read
But it doesn’t seem to matter anymore

Now worn, faded and aged
Some of the pieces cannot be recognized
You have almost forgotten some of the details
Yet, the essence of the matter remains

Whether on display or put away
Everyone remembers the time it took to create this life
Caring hands still care for the cloth
Understanding hearts hold the pieces together