In memory of Judy, on the anniversary of her death, a villanelle about Everyday Use and the grafting of new life, in which she has the last word ~ Caroline Tigner Moore
In Living Memory
There hangs a patchwork quilt above our bed
A stained and storied past in pastoral,
Skylit purple, indian summer red;
Clary, sea glass stitched with auburn thread.
Tuck to rimple, soft in autumn’s thrall,
A damocletian quilt above our heads.
Aboard the river bark where we were wed,
The innocents stood by in quiet pall
As each we swore to share our daily bread.
And like a bruise that first appears bright red
Then blue and green and ochre in its sprawl
We lay this patchwork quilt across our bed.
So stitch together prints of all our dead,
In orisons, from labyrinthine walls.
Her face was viridescent while she bled,
But now at peace… and lovely overhead,
A Pride of India shades her, green and tall.
Here lies a patchwork quilt across our bed.
“What you see is what you get,” she said.
Caroline Tigner Moore
 “Pride of India” is an alternate name for a crepe myrtle.