Well no, I don’t prick myself often,
and thimbles are a nuisance,
feel like dead fingers.
This one? A Drunkard’s Path,
colors and curves, the blue was
Aunt Mary’s Sunday dress—
she was partial to the blackberry brandy.
When I got married, Ma made two,
Century of Progress and Goose in the Pond.
Eli was a good man,
we kept warm enough.
There in that corner,
Grandma Hastings made that,
Hands All Around. She once cured Sarah Nuttall
just by touching her. But Sarah was always sickly.
Made my girl a Corn and Beans, always liked
growing things. She made one, Electric Fans,
good with a needle that one,
liked fancy things.
The women in town, they’re working
on Robbing Peter to Pay Paul.
Talking mostly, it’ll take a year,
never get done for the church bazaar.
They go in for religious patterns.
In that chest there’s a Old Maid’s Puzzle,
Grandma never finished it
and I didn’t want to before I met Eli,
bad luck. Then the babies came
and there wasn’t time.
Well, when I do prick myself,
just rub it on a red piece
for good luck.

This poem first appeared in CutBank 11, 1978.
Used here with the author’s permission.