Rue

No news here since the last famished
liberation, I’ve settled in silence
and the odd letter, embroidery
no one can see. When all you wanted
was bright bonnets and quaint skirts,
you got a skint knee and rue
prim as trimmed whiskers
to pass on to me along with
the magic of wash-and-wear.
Now we know you were the brave one,
now we know what that cost.
I’ve not forgotten how you sewed
my clothes–a velveteen collar on
a little coat, a flowery button on
a sleeve–or how your mother
made a quilt from what was left
of all you’d made for me. If only
you’d taught me gratitude and
how to scry unspoken expectation,
I’d not be so sorry now for all
the things that then I didn’t know.

The Fall

It was not our nakedness we didn’t know
but the allure of shoes and clothes.
Alas they came along with dearth of good–
strings of pearls and lowly hoods.
Nor was it Lucifer that gave us pause
but other beings’ fur and claws.
We’d need those later on (we quickly thought)
if our repentance came to naught.