Everyday Use

There's a quilt hanging in my window that reminds me of 'everyday use'
it is but it isn't
because it's being a curtain, just an everyday thing
but its framed by my bookcase and dresser,
sets off the room with its hints of springtime.
An art piece, for sure.

My grandmother tells me her grandmother made it,
but her mother died senile,
thought she was the queen victoria before she died,
so I don't know if this quilt is ten years old or a hundred.
But it makes me think of family legacy anyways
cause who cares how far past grandma it goes,
it still goes to grandma and that's heritage enough for me.

I look at it hanging there
and I think of short stories and churning butter
and changing my name because i'm pretentious little shit
and ma standing up to dee for the first time in ever

It catches my eye at half past six and I wonder
if each little ray on those many pointed suns
has a story, has a lengend
was there when grandfather (too many greats to count) put down that axe
had been passed down too many of those seven sisters
it's too pretty, too pristine
I know my family history was never that tidy

but each piece handcut?
Each stitch handsewn?
That I can buy, i'll believe we didn't
i'll believe I see bloodspots from too many pricked fingers
the stars in the corners hang a little bit crooked
like my mother's daughter's smile
X's and O's