twenty-two summers later
I had been living
so minutely
until that piecewise illumination
like tree-dappled light fell
into my hands, ready
to make honest
patchwork of me.
I like bold red lipstick
and custard-filled scones.
That is to say,
I like licking custard off my fingers
and reapplying my lipstick
when I'm done.
My God, there is a difference,
there is a space
the size of a hand-stitched heart
between me at the window
and
me in the sun.