Poetry
Period

Ann Stone
Volume 23, No. 3

Mother, a keeper
of secrets, has warned 
me with a booklet.
When my period arrives 
I take the news to a quilting bee, 
to six women hunched over frames, 
my mother stitching scallops 
along a spotless border. 
Sweating, nauseated, 
I whisper in her ear. 
She lays me on the couch, 
drapes a wet cloth 
on my forehead, thimble
still on her finger. 
Retta brings me peppermint tea. 
Margaret eases my knees to my chest 
then rubs the small of my back. 
Josie says she started at eleven 
and stopped at nineteen. 
Leona remembers tearing rags to hold the blood. 
Mother tells how she fainted
 the first time it happened to her. 
Together they lift the edges 
of a worn patchwork. 
Double wedding rings billow overhead
as the women incant their secrets,
cover and enfold me.

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