She writes poems about other people
Like they’re stolen silk
Laid coolly against skin, delicate imposition
Shines like honey, soothes like milk
In a Renaissance world, life is in the linens

And it seems unlikely
that she wove from the beginning
It’s Just Another Thing She’s Trying
soon to be Just Another Thing She’s Quitting

Okay
okay
taking a breath
Yes I feel like death
But you could keep me close to your chest
Draw me out, put me through the spinneret
You think I’ll be fine?
Bet