I have found a peace, working with my hands.
This brush-stroke, that bit of glue,
pushing back dirt for a plant or seed,
gathering eggs, patting a goat on her head.
I wish you could see inside my mind,
the not-enoughness, the not-lovable enough,
not-wealthy or healthy enough.
that has driven and broken me.
I’m gluing and painting myself back together.
And if sometime, I need you more than seems
even ironwood cactus statues need
twine and goop and a gentle hand when
one arm or the other falls completely off,
giving into gravity after years and years
of shaking its fists at the sun.