Poetry by Trent Busch
The quilt rack I’m building
for my nephew was commissioned
in a silent deal: I’ll make
you one on the promise
I’m spared the ceremony.
He made no promise, nor
was asked for one outside
the conversation I
tied the ribbon on of
present without presence.
How could he? Those other
ones who see the moment
of their lives beyond the whims
of sickness, golf, or I’d
rather be in Georgia.
It’s three-quarters finished,
the arches a ring of
laminated oak,
dowels, stretchers, and base
a half year in the planning
to remind them on their June
day of Christmases
and the hard snowy nights
shared by their ancestors
in new, west Virginia.
In my mind, except for
flowers, I’ve played their song,
done the dance and built my
part of the bargain. Where they’ll
get the quilt I don’t know.
Trent Busch, a native of rural West Virginia, now lives in Georgia where he writes and makes furniture. His poem “Edges of Roads” was the 2016 First Place winner of the Margaret Reid Poetry Prize.
