To Sit and Sew

In quilting class, I sit and sew
And wonder where the stress did go
For somehow, I just seem to switch
From tense to calm with every stitch.

The needle pokes and pulls the thread
Which follows where my fingers led
As brightly patterned cloth succumbs;
It matters not what it becomes.

The end result is less the goal
Than knowing I am in control
Of all the pieces I’ve combined,
My creativity defined.

My work is slow but I don’t care;
I’m happy when I’m sitting there,
For thoughts of angst or wrath or guilt
All vanish when I sit and quilt.