~Fabric of A Family~

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Once silk,

soft upon my skin,

the color purple,

like royalty

dyed.

A cohesive quilt,

designed.

With deft fingers,

spun in skill,

The fabric of my family.

Arms,

Extended to their limits,

Fingertips,

reaching for the remnants

curled around this olive branch

holding onto hope

holding out for healing.

This schism

senseless.

Now the sun smiles,

its shadows cast.

don't say it sweetly,

rather speak plainly.

salt in the wound doesn't scare me.

Like Thomas,

I would touch and see

to believe.

That what is said exists.

We are.

He is.

I am.

Family.

Or Can be.

For words are wondrous beings

chameleons changing color

adapting

blending as best they can

for survival they shift

they are scared.

And even now,

I refuse to be the fig,

I will not wither on this vine,

And though the desert is dry,

There are still streams of water to be found~