 
             
             
             The Quilters of Gee’s Bend
 Seems like that old river tied
 itself in a knot just to keep
 black folks there at Gee’s
 Bend while time and fortune 
 swept on by.
 And Master Pettway gave
 those folks his name, but
 stripped everything else he 
 could.  Left just scraps,
 but they were used to that.
 So those hands that hardly
 needed something else to do
 unraveled their worn-out
 world.  Pieced together
 remnants of Africa
 and raggedy dreams 
 to make something new.
 Let dress tails dance
 with britches–heat from
 the cotton fields pressed
 deep in their seams.
 So tired of plowed furrows,
 they let their stitches bend
 now and then just like
 that river.  Nothing perfect,
 yet God was in the details.
 And the quilters called that
 making do and visiting and
 keeping warm and pulling up
 memories each night,
 till one day they were told–
 we call that art.
Spiraling into Control
by Alarie Tennille
Table of Contents
The Inside Story
First Sight
Daddy Would Know
Dollhouse
Wild Alice
Natural Order
Vermeer at Home
Since Jeanne d’Arc
Second Grade
Daily Work
Cavalier Manor
Daddy Hits a Policeman
August Afternoon
A Question of Weather
Tomato Invasion
Bringing Home the Bacon
Letters from Home
Habit
Sisters
Clutter
 
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