blue green velveteen

Up at the white thread
I seek clarity.
My thoughts on trial do me no justice
Any other time of day.

Only now while the angels
Make their rounds,
I begin to gather the pieces
Delegate the reasons.

Just how smart is this brown-skin girl?
Whose legacy of soft-spoken cunning
Precedes her.
A way with men

She likes projects,
Something broken needing repair
So that I can get in between
Inside his snow globe

Heart. Where I twirl angrily swirling
She sees compassion
Flakes of obvious selfish guile
I see self-preservation.

Up from a dream. A familial place
Nested at the feet of blue green velveteen hills
A mother attached-
A white thread of light

Anything worthwhile is blue.
Patiently kneeling, ankles obtuse
Hands just so
She’ll be guided in this Hour

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