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Quilt
48″ x 54″
Happy Christmas
by Jordan Bernal
Christmas time is near
Decorations on the tree
My wish: Happiness
Holiday Hues
by Camille DeFer Thompson
Warm hues, green, red, gold
Chase away the winter blues.
Welcome holidays
O
by Julaina Kleist-Corwin
Circles in circles
Colored cloth patterns alive
Come now dance with them.
Bulbs
by Diane Lovitt
The popcorn is strung
The radiating bulbs hang
Colors red, green, gold, blue
Pillow Colors Past
by Lynne T. Menon
Red, gold and green.
What does this Christmas pillow mean?
Reminder of celebrations past,
a couch of pillows that doesn’t last.
Running and shopping and wrapping,
anxious children ripping, peeping.
Coffee and cigarettes and fighting.
quiet of sadness, they best be abiding.
Santa is coming
for cookies and milk.
Dad hides in his room
while Santa ponders his ilk.
Tiny lights and faces aglow,
four pancake bellies want to know.
Love lives here?
Santa’s gifts of distraction cushion the blow.
The Last One
by Lani Longshore
“Are you finished with the tree?” Martha asked.
“Almost,” Larry said. Only the quilt is left.
The tree was denuded, had been for half an hour. The ornaments rested in tissue wrappers, snug in their boxes. The lights coiled around cardboard rectangles, sleepy snakes waiting for next season. Feather topper, skirt—all packed. Only the Christmas quilt remained on the wall.
Larry sat on the floor with a pillow case on his lap. He studied each square, savoring the joy of recognizing fabric from his shirts, his sister’s dresses, his father’s vests.
Martha entered the living room, drying her hands with a dish towel. “That’s the last of the Christmas dishes washed and put away. Now I feel I can start the new year. No leftovers, no regrets.” She folded her arms. “You’re not ready to let go, are you?”
There was kindness in her question, but Larry winced all the same. “It’s the same every year. I leave Mom’s quilt until the end, and get stuck. After all these years, it still isn’t Christmas without her.”
Martha sat next to him. “She said you would have the hardest time at Christmas. That’s why she made the quilt.”
“Her last project.” He scanned it again. “She put so much love into it, but nothing of her.”
His voice quavered.
Martha patted his arm. “Just because there aren’t any beads on it doesn’t mean there’s
nothing of her in it. She made it with you in mind, and beads aren’t your thing.”
“That’s not what I mean.” Larry pointed to a square near the bottom. “You see that red stripe? That’s from my band shirt from junior high. There’s a pocket from dad’s favorite vest just above it. Scraps from everyone’s clothes but hers.”
Martha laughed, a clear, silvery tone that matched the starlight playing on the windows. “Larry, didn’t you ever look on the back?”
Rolling to her feet, she took the quilt from the wall and folded one corner to reveal the label. A simple white square, bordered with pink lace, was stitched on top of the red backing fabric. Shaky, handwritten words proclaimed the quilt to have been made by Rebecca Anderson for her son, Larry, with all her love.
Larry traced the letters, and stroked the fine linen and lace. “All this time, I never knew it was here.”
“Do you recognize the fabric?” Martha asked. She laughed again. “I can see you don’t. It’s from a hanky you bought her. She told me you probably wouldn’t remember.”
“I must have been ten when I gave her this. She kept it all those years?”
“She kept everything, Larry. That’s why it took three weeks to clean out her sewing room.”
He gathered the quilt and gently stuffed it in the pillow case. “Whatever else we give away, or throw away, we’re keeping this quilt.”
“Of course we are, my love, of course we are.”
Visual Arts Argue
by Linda Todd
The Winterfest celebration is almost underway. Vice President Patricia and Programs Director Tara rush to hang the two quilts Tidepools and O Christmas Tree on stands behind a table as members begin milling around the conference room.
“Hey, Tidepools. Remember me from quilt circle?” O Christmas Tree said.
“Yes, how could I forget? How are you?” said Tidepools.
“Finished, as you can see. Looks like we’re both entered in the Winterfest celebration. I heard there were twenty-five visual art entries.”
“I know and I can’t wait to see how many writers I inspired.”
“I’m sure I inspired more writers than you.” O Christmas Tree flipped up one of his lower corners to show off his green, gold, and blue colors. “Everyone knows abstract art is more inspiring than scenes from the sea.”
“What are you talking about? Have you never heard of Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea?”
“Who hasn’t? But I represent the biggest holiday of the year. Did you know that stores stock their shelves sometimes six months in advance of Christmas Day?”
Tara poses the arms and legs of Yo Pumpkin, a fabric gourd, in the center of the table.
“What are you guys yammering about?” said Yo Pumpkin flapping his arms into a more comfortable position. “I’m going to garner the most writings. Who could resist my bowling ball body and lanky arms and legs? With my orange, gold, and yellow colors, I can dress up any sofa or chair for fall. Did you take a good look at my cute face?”
“We’re all made of fabric, so of course one of us will have the most writings,” said Tidepools showing off her starfish and sea palms panel. “Our seamstresses spent hours upon hours drawing our patterns, choosing the right material, and stitching us up.”
“You’re right, Tidepools,” said O Christmas Tree. “Our creators did spend a lot of time making us. But I will be rewarded with the most writing pieces.”
Patricia and Tara arrange the two framed photographs Somewhere Out There and The Sunroom on the table.
“Wait just a minute,” said Somewhere Out There. “What writer could resist my starbursts of light and tree branches reaching toward the sky? I’m sure I inspired all the science fiction and fantasy writers out there. You watch. I’ll have the most writings.”
“Stop squabbling over there,” said The Sunroom. “It doesn’t matter how many writings we inspired. The purpose of art is to tell a story and evoke an emotion. I heard at least fifty people made a reservation for the meeting today. That’s one hundred eyeballs looking at us. All of us. I don’t know about you all, but I’m honored just to have been chosen for display.”
“I agree with The Sunroom,” said Tidepools. “Winterfest is a celebration of the members and all their creative endeavors, not just their writings. Remember, humans are busy creatures.
Some of the members may have wanted to write something, but didn’t have the time.”
“Look over there,” Yo Pumpkin said as he stretched out one of his floppy arms and pointed toward the opposite corner of the room. “They’re setting out the snacks. Smell that popcorn? Wish I could have some.”
“Quiet,” said O Christmas Tree. “President Jordan is at the podium. The meeting will start soon. Then we’ll find out I am the winner.”
“O Christmas Tree, didn’t you listen? We’re all winners,” said Tidepools.
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