The Bluebird Promise

It’s supposed to stay with me always, I know,

From those beanie-capped Saturdays

In Ethel’s basement.

We’d begin with our promise.

I knew it then

I should know it, even now.

I suppose there were things in there about being honest,

Or maybe about being brave

Or kind

Or obedient

But there is only one part that sticks with me,

The hardest promise to keep.

To remember to finish what I begin

It has grown to fit my shadow:

In one hand, my abandoned writing

In the other, a quilt project, still in the cloth square phase

Haunting, daunting, daring me to

Look straight into the eyes

Of my imperfection

To accept her

And call her enough.

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