Earth's Quilt - By Sharon Flood Kasenberg

At Writer's Guild last month we were challenged to use the word "earth" or the word "quilt" in poetry or prose form.  Being a bit of a one-upper, I felt an urge to use both words. 

Think of the experience of being in an airplane and looking down at the earth below. When I was about eight years old my parents asked my uncle to take us in his bush plane to Cockburn Island, where my father was born and raised. I clearly remember that flight, and how my brother Tom, who was just a toddler at the time, marveled over the "dinky cars" and "bird houses" below us. I remember looking down on farmers' fields in rural northern Ontario and thinking how much the ground below looked like one of those patchwork quilts that my grandmothers and great-aunts were so adept at making - a "crazy quilt" flung over an unmade bed - kind of lumpy and messy looking, but beautiful none the less.

Now I look in awe at pictures taken of our "little blue planet" from space.

"Somewhere down there we're all living", I think to myself, "Every person on this planet is in that picture!"

I am amazed constantly by the diversity on this planet. I'm astounded by the varying climates here, and by the flora and fauna that inhabit each zone. I'm fascinated by the different cultures that all co-exist on a common planet, and saddened by the economic disparities that stand in contrast between them.

Every day I am more enthralled by the beauty of this Earth. No matter how much we abuse our planet and take it for granted the sun still shines and the stars still come out at night.

The "design" remains grand, and I remain thankful.


Earth's Quilt-by Sharon Flood Kasenberg (April 12th 2011)

Our Earth, with all her many lands -
her jungles, mountains, desert sands
from space appears a patchwork quilt -
blues of the waters, browns of silt,
greens in the woodlands, prairie gold
and coolest whites in polar cold.
Her varied patches, roughly sewn
in seams of coal and ore and stone
are not appreciated much -
we mar them with our careless touch.
Her fabric stained and rudely torn,
in many places strained and worn;
Some spots we mend while others fray,
unhemmed by poverty's decay;
worn thin by tyranny and war
until they can be stitched no more.
In other spots her batting's fluffed
and decadently over-stuffed
and everywhere is richness seen -
in silk and satin; velveteen.
Yet all is trimmed in thread work fine -
each surface yields some grand design -
embroidered o'er, in gold and guilt
the pattern on our earthly quilt.