We all have a little sadness inside
by Jocelyn Fuller Chrisley


Today-
I wonder if I have spent too much time not knowing
what I want to do with my life.

I am 25.
Married.
Often doing nothing with my life-
unless feeling confused counts as something.

When my parents were 25-
They were well on their way to saving the world
and owning a home.

I found a friend with whom I could share these worries
She listened to my ambivalence-

I saw her looking for the thread that would connect
her life
to mine.

"My grandmother makes quilts."
She said-
"Made quilts.

Before she lost her sight and found her fingers shaking.
she turned old pillowcases and dress shirts into landscapes-
vibrant squares bound together by small constant stitches.

My grandmother has already made a quilt,
bright with pieces borrowed from a checkered tablecloth and a graduation gown,
for my baby who hasn't been born yet."

She sighs

And we look at each other with a lot of wanting
for time.






Copyright © 2024 by Red River Review. First Rights Reserved. All other rights revert to the authors.
No work may be reproduced or republished without the express written consent of the author.