Painting the Girl I Was

My ornament hung proud from a string where she was pinned to dry.

Poker at the Kitchen Table

Only once did he ever throw a dollar coin in, and that was a moment.

Or perhaps it is simply words that inspire and stir in the quiet between you and I.

I sat in the dark, recognizing the rarity of this moment—peace, magic, beauty, stillness aligned perfectly.

My family was patchworked, wounding sewn into the seams.

My vessel no longer commissionable to holding anything I don’t choose.

Things end. Life ends. And that feels peaceful and hopeful to me.

My spirituality is the container that holds priceless treasures. Freedom is my love language.

It’s no one’s fault— it traces back too far and wide to be blamed on any just one. It is fair to no one. All hail the brave.

You handed me a mineral, and I still carry it with me in the daylight of awake.