The Threat of Keepsakes by Louis J. Fagan

The quilt survived the flood,
tattered muddied forlorn, I
rescued it from the waist-high
river water in the basement

fly-fishing waders strapped on, I
descended the stairs into the cold
black water staking its claim
to space intended off-limits

the Christmas angel, crockery,
kept books, preserved Barbies,
photos, CDs bobbed like buoys
in my wake as I waded through

the quilt had been neatly draped
across the back of the wooden rocker,
half-submerged it now drifted aimlessly
on currents I couldn’t feel

I’d saved the quilt once already, taken
when my mother-in-law cleaned
our closet during the visit she’d made
to help with our first born, years ago

it lay wadded up next to garbage bags
for pick up at the end of our driveway
when I pulled in from work, what’s my
great-grandmother’s quilt doing out there

I asked my wife when I came in the house,
quilt rolled, tucked beneath my arm, the baby
in her arms, swaddled in a blanket carrying
with it the threat of becoming a keepsake too

fishing in the river water was one thing,
casting a line and pulling out trout,
but reaching into it, surrounded by four
walls, for the quilt chilled my arms, my soul

drenched and cold, material thinned
and frayed from age, it tore away from my touch
when I scooped it up and spread it across
my shoulders, tightening it to my chest



Louis J. Fagan is an English professor at FMCC in Johnstown, NY. He is currently at work on a novel based loosely on his short story, 'Slit,' which was published in Weber: The Contemporary West. More of his short fiction can be found in Typehouse Literary Magazine and Five on the Fifth.