Dad says we don't have bread flour
for my fancy focaccia bread
My grandma's biscuits don't call for bread flour
heaven's little clouds on our baking sheet
silky dress with a light blue cardigan
for church on sunday mornings
cows mooing
home.

My piano teacher taught me
to love songs that play to hearts
Let me speak to yours
Let my language scream truth

every day is gone
before I know its here
every day I love
yes, ones filled with tears
please help me to grow
every single day
and never waste a moment
and love anyway

I'm going to a birthday party
for a kid I barely know
another year of life
for a beautiful human soul

the first cup of coffee
is hope
the remains of pandora's box
every morning

palettes of color
reminds us of summer
light to dark
tan-orange arc
lavender’s nice too
I'll paint for you

I am a seamstress
stitching life together in harmony
creating beauty every place my needle breaches
You are the weaver
you dart in and out of lives
loosely dragging us along
to the knotted finish line
weaver and seamstress met
and you are persuasive
performing the drama
and I believed
seamstress and weaver could create
a masterpiece so fine
to last for all our days
and yet
you have taken your dagger through our greatest tapestry
destroyed what I had birthed
you laugh because you do not know
the seamstress's needle knows no bounds
and your eyes
always too far apart