The saint is sewn into the tapestry with golden threads
reddish hues of twisted yarn
fabulous to a chosen few
she holds the Bible up to her breast
cajoled by the devil
but flat-footed and sure
she suffers to stand straight.
Misguided woe was just a path of wonder
rabbits mistook for a den
the grasses beaten down by feet
as we pushed through.
I slept sideways on the back porch for many moons
only to make breakfast one last time before my
breakthrough.
I had to break a few eggs, as they say, to make an omelet.
