Legacy

I have no craft
to give you.
Can you make do
with the quilts,
handstitched,
by the great lady
you never knew?
the crocheted slippers
wrapped in tissue
and tucked in
in my nightgown drawer?
You won't be able
to wrap yourself
in the scratchy afghans
of my love
when the night is bitter.

My only legacy
can be my words,
whispered into your
sleepy ears,
scratched in journals
and legal pads,
tossed into the
ether.
Do not look for wisdom.
You'll find only me
hoping you'll want
to know me.