It is lonely.
We keep secrets, safe and warm.
Forgo the night,
With spiders, greet the dawn.
Cocooned in quiet,
The world before they wake —
Turning whispers
Belie the energy, twisted thread.
Polished wood,
Leather hinge, a step in time
To daydream rhythm,
Courting unknown friends.
Haunting accompanist —
So easy to get lost.
Substitute myth
For sacred flesh and fire.

What would you have us do?

Built an altar —
Cold stone and resentment.
Must have known
Sacrifice would be required.
We sing out,
But under the breath.
Holding hands
With the hearth goddess.
Red silk slips
Into finest of fine threads.
Indulge —
This, the luxury of handiwork.
The frayed wires crackle.
Now it is now.
And no matter what has been lost
Or gained —
Nimble fingers can open the jar,
Treadle rhythm,
Latent power —
We will make something useful of it.

About Emily

I may or may not have: A. Dirt B. Ink C. Paint D. Wool under my fingernails.

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