miscarried (they've taken something away)

I am holding my own empty hands
To remember how yours felt
It must have never happened
There were no tweets no blogs no proof
I must have felt it mattered
Only a small amount of matter
That drifted off in an early morning beam of light
I watch the memories of things that never happened 
Burn golden then
Disappear 

 

Jesus and the giant loom

Only good things should dance in children's heads
In the dark

Jesus took his great big loom
And set it up inside my room
He weaved some dreams and tucked me in
I don't know how to end or where to begin

Tiptoed stair treads sofa sat still
Mother's love, Father's love 
Window sill
But the screen is black
And night is too
Ready to climb back upstairs with you

The weaver story was so very upsetting
You know the one about
Jesus and the giant bolt
Of lightning?