The Bee

The Bee


Needles up, needles down.
Plying of the needles.
Ten stitches to the inch,
On the frame basted quilt.
Four year old Olivia
Under the frame,
On the floor,
Sees knees.

Knees and sensible shoes.
Granny Stanton's brown calico,
Crocheted house slippers.
Marta pink roses, faded with washing.
Mama's navy pin dot, polished white oxfords.
Aunt Bertha's green check, Lizy's dove gray.
All the knees wearing dresses.
All the feet in well worn shoes.
Olivia serves tea in tiny dishes
To the doll that came from Sears
Last Christmas.

The murmur of voices,
Hums and hovers overhead,
"New beauty parlor opening on Hershall Avenue. "
"Aunt Patsy is going to have another baby.
They're hoping for a girl this time. "
"Uncle Thomas is looking mighty poorly these days,
since Clarice passed on. "
"Price of potatoes has gone plain out of sight!
How's a body to live?"
"Wasn't Sunday service just real nice?"

Olivia places her head on mama's polka dot knees,
Drifting off under the blanket of conversation.
Mama's hand stops quilting,
Reaches beneath the frame,
Stroking the strands,
Of silky brown hair.

L