I Grow my Own Fruit

No one teaches me.
I teach myself.
That stumble is knowledge.
This cut is wisdom.
I took the poison and spit out light.

There is so much fullness.
I cup my hands over my swelling heart.
There are ropes threading through me,
Around me, the center of my beauty cinched
To contain the swarm of chaos color.

I cup the fruit in my hands.
I bite into the heart.
This is the antidote
And a thousand tiny whispers inside.
I know my own mind.

---
inspired by the paintings of Seraphine Louis. http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2014/05/fireblossom-friday-seraphine-louis.html?m=1

Lace on the Altar

There is a covering of lace on the altar.
When I kneel there, supplicant, beggar
Not wholly myself
I follow the whorls with my eyes
See the single, double, treble
Of the crocheted steps
See the tiny pieces
Making a whole.
When I rise, back straight , stomach in
I think of delicate strings singing on
bobbins,
Falling over each other to create
This bit of angel wing and cloud tuft.