Keeping that Quilt

42 moths ate through that quilt.
Storage told the garage sale.
Remember what's beneath.
Her wrinkle hands and squares.
Stitched for me. Fabric girls and bonnets.
Upon my bed, a covering. 1986.
I hid against the wall.
Blinking fresh tears through an
Uncomfortable smile.
Not knowing what dead means.
I saw my father crying inside a suit.
I had not met him before.
Holes torn through one story.
That year he moved her to the lake
When he lost his old man at 24.
And kept her, loved and beaten by a boxer.
Widowed and healed beyond a sewn quilt
Because she raised a son
Better than she chose a husband.
That is why I keep those eaten squares.
Days beneath a simple old man.
His mother's warm thread
Covering him like years.