She Sits. She Sews. She's Silent.

She sits. She sews. She’s silent.

She spins her delicate web.

She tells a story, life absent of glory,

Writing with each thread.

She sits. She sews. She’s silent.

There’s an image on her quilt.

Two warring men fight with all their brutal might.

One’s blood has been spilt.

She sits. She sews. She’s silent.

See now, something else appears:

A motherly figure cries with much rigor

A river of tears.

She sits. She sews. She’s silent.

More years are now woven in.

A nightmarish dream is the years’ constant theme.

A girl with scarred skin.

She sits. She sews. She’s silent.

This piece is a sad display.

From a house of abuse she would never choose;

Knows no other way.

She sits. She sews. She’s silent.

Turn your eyes from the dismay.

Torn apart by fierce men, again and again.

To them, she’s their prey.

She sits. She sews. She’s silent.

Brighter colors now appear.

A man full of love, heaven sent from above,

Wipes away her tears.

She sits. She sews. She’s silent.

What now does her canvas show?

Husband sick in bed. The woman full of dread.

His life faded slow.

She sits. She sews. She’s silent.

Sews more years of life alone.

No happiness found. In life’s ocean she’s drowned.

Her quilt has been sewn.

She sits. She’s done. She’s crying.

Her wailing pierces the room.

Life’s story been told, she’s now faded and old.

Been cursed from the womb.

A young girl comes wand’ring in.

Picks up the needle and thread.

Within a blank space, she weaves in a new lace.

A story unread.

She sits. She sews. She’s silent.

Young girl almost finished now.

Here is a mother, given birth to a daughter.

Torn away ‘til now.

They stand. They smile. They embrace.

Joy illuminates their world.

They laugh so purely. They sew one more story.

Mother’s hope unfurled.

The old woman leaves her quilt.

Lives out the story instead.

A life of no glory, she now smiles at her story.

No more tears are shed.