Crazy Quilt

Received a request to post this poem. I had to go searching for it because it was still under its working title and not easily found.  Someday if I have time I really need to go through all my writing and sort it out into categories.

This was written for a board member struggling with healing from CSA (childhood sexual abuse). She was at the beginning of her journey, and faltering, overwhelmed by the enormity of the task of healing. I wanted to illustrate the healing process without making it a boring list of steps.

**I don't think its triggering, but will toss a warning on here just in case, as it does deal with sexual abuse, and mentions self injury.**


Crazy Quilt

Her life was arranged in perfect patterns.
Every piece where it belonged
Every stitch in its place
a beautiful herloom quilt
he came and ripped through it with his flesh knife
leaving gapping holes and bits of stuffing every where
leaving her in darkness
but
the sun came up
the day arrived fresh and new
the world unchanged
she left in a strange wake
neither drowned or on shore
her quilt, her life torn and scattered about
Frozen porcilin face, tight frown held in the corners of her lips
no tears, oh no tears
silently she gets down on her knees
and with her hands
sweeps all the stuffing, all the bits of her life, her soul up, and the quilt
she stuffs it all in the closet
and shuts the door.
Just like that.
JUST LIKE THAT.
its hidden
its gone
it didnt happen.
Everyone like actors returning to a play, take their marks
curtain opens
and her life resumes
no one noticed
not even him
she faded from sight
the pain she wrote volumes and volumes about
chapter after chapter
written in blood
scars
pain
no eyes read her cries
the pale white scars helped her to fade from sight
stitches sometimes were all that held her together
She a crazy quilt of neurosis's
then just when she though the door was safetly buried under years of dust and decay
her therapist walked over and opened it.
her T fanned out the torn quilt and asked her "is this yours?"
She ran in her head, like a trapped animal
the past like a rope bitting into her as she fought it
holding her there in the present and threating to pull her back into the the past
"no its not" she truthfully lied. wishing her words to be true
Her T layed it in her lap and encourged her to claim it.
she couldn't even look at it
how can that life be hers?
how can that aweful reality be a part of her?
She shut her eyes and for a moment she was free of it
her T's words came like gently rain
"you can heal from this, you can repair the quilt
It won't be the same and it will look different,
but you can restore the beauty to it."
Finally she opened her eyes and tears dripped down
"how do I do that?"
"YOU dont do that, WE do that. We mend it together, it will take a long time."
she was right , it did take along time to slowly, painfully
go over every inch of the quilt
to restore the binding, the batting, the fabric, the stitching
the shattered trust
the inner light
the safety
the holes in her spirit
After a while she found a strange, unsettling feeling within herself
she set about searching to see when she last felt this way.
it was
...it was
once upon a time when her
life was arranged in perfect patterns.
Every piece where it belonged
Every stitch in its place
a beautiful herloom quilt.
She layed it out on the bed and weeped
oh the journey to get here
it was long and hard
she was greatful for the many who didn't let her off the hook
the ones who said
"stay in therapy"
the ones who said
"no you cant kill yourself"
the ones who said
"its worth it"
The ones who fought for her when she was too tired to shoulder the rifle and go into battle
She could see their stitching on her blanket
It took one to destroy it
and many to repair it.
She would never forget their kindness.
Their faith in her.
She smiled. He had failed in his mission to blow out her light.
She felt it burning bright.

thend
(c) P R 3-27-08