When she was young, she lived on her last dollar and books and dreams.
She worked as though her life depended on it.
She watched and smiled, said yes I’ll marry you.
She died and birthed her boy.
She played her heart on that piano and her husband heard
and loved her again.
She questioned, ate disbelief. She wept.
She prayed and prayed. She received.
She slow danced with ideas,
She was frail, a leaf the wind turned over, and
a rock you couldn’t move.
She sang blues and hymns and dreams.
She struggled to get off ground some days, and
wrote her way into clouds and drank their rain.
She asked God for one more day because she erred, wounded, and grieved.
She loved deeply. She didn’t love enough.
She hoped her life was enough.
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