Mary Frederick Ahearn

Well Worn

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.

river stones
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
it is