"small pillows from sackcloth..."

my sister made small pillows from the
empty grain sacks our father left just
outside the barn on saturday mornings

she would sit with her feet dangling out
the hayloft door high above the world below...
cutting and stitching squares of rough cloth
the size of a gentleman's handkerchief

we'd find them tucked beneath the head of
a whelping setter, or lined up along the back
of a porchswing, sitting on a doll's cradle
or clutched in the arms of a weeping child

filled with rosemary, dried alfalfa, sprigs of
lavender, or "borrowed" handfulls of
seed from the songbird feeders by the summer
porch...my sister's pillows, the final seam closed
with her long, running stitches of pale pink
thread...were the perfect spot for weaving 
daydreams, watching clouds,  and hearing angels....