Mary Frederick Ahearn
I remember Nana's beautifully washed bed sheets, the faded pattern of
Lily of the Valley, the cloth soft and worn. I also remember trying to
get her to buy new ones, or to accept some as gifts. She always
declined, smiled, and said they had lots of wear left in them. And were
still so pretty. She used them until she herself faded away.
their rounded edge
catch the last light
All these years later, I think of her as I make the bed. My sheets,
too, are faded, the threads worn soft and thin, reflecting years of
being dried on the clothesline, smelling of sun and air. Even here, in
this new place, I use them, remembering. We slept on them together, my
love and I, until he had to go. Until I leave, then...
my pillow book
not what you think