Finger-painted masterpieces fasten to my chambers.
A heart, unplugged, pumping creation; born of mother,
my miracle formed by faith, wisdom of labor
and sweat passed from woman to woman. I shudder
in remembrance of my own birth, meditating
on the forgotten, peeling back youth with eyes
wet with waves crashing; I hear voices reverberating
praise in a womb of darkness bringing forth cries
of life. All journeys have led me down a broken path
to home where my heart sticks to peanut butter
and jelly smiles. I build a nest of green and rest on the Sabbath;
I wear my scars like singed moth wings hoping to again flutter.
Always seeking the proverbial flame, I burn in want of more,
more of you, spinning into breath of life - my resilience, the core.