The Missing Blue

My mother stitched a quilt from years A yellow skirt, a sleeve of green She left one square beside the seam And wouldn't tell me what it needed His work shirt waited on a chair We hadn't moved it since the spring Leave a place for the missing blue For the things we can't yet do Love can wait beside the thread Till our hands can move again I wore that shirt one winter day The cuffs came down across my hands I caught the smell of cedar drawers And cried beside the ironing board Leave a place for the missing blue For the things we can't yet do Love can wait beside the thread Till our hands can move again At last I cut a little square She held the cloth against her cheek We kept the collar in the drawer And sewed the blue where it belonged Leave a place for the missing blue For the things we can't yet do Love can wait beside the thread Till our hands can move again The quilt lies warm across our knees His blue still holds a part of me