Grace

They felt-out from velcro-entombing towers
and sway into showers that glide down 
your face, and tasted your mettle.
With Grace
they let go, and shook hands with nettles,
and swam in the yellows and purples in palms,
sanded-down calls-out to give-out, then regrow,
then reap without a sew
much as to feed-full the bellies of each mouth:
They see you full of love.
They'll always befull now,
you've belied your devout intention,
and they've grown, supported by
your raised forehead when you felt stalled.
And most now, most now of all we see
slow... reveal... of
these shelled friends, answering to nothing,
taking of you nothing                                                                                   

They were there in scores behind your ears, 
holding you
when it felt only 'twas you who'd others hold...
And in brief flashes of heat,
when it felt maybe you could be seen,
They saw you,
and when it seemed nothing close ne'er could be,
They loved you.
And when you were shamed
and blamed for only giving
Everything,
they knelt close, and nibbled on your ears
like a freshly hacked leaf,
and rather than consuming, they dealt you energy. 

'Gain and again, when you chopped-off your feet,
and hollowed-out life-giving meals of your meat,
and fashioned-out snow-shoes
for your brother's feet, and                                                                                                                                                                                  turned to the starving and chewed each bite for them                                                                                                           with your teeth in their mouth,                                                                                                                                                                And when all your love was torn-up and spit-out,                                                                                                                       and you still again, still                                                                                                                                                                                 tried to give-up the walls of your back                                                                                                                                                   for a large family's house, and                                                                                                                                                                                       built your Nan halls from your skin, and                                                                                                                                                                                       were left to cut each door open,                                                                                                                                                           and told you should give more than all of the love                                                                                                                         and the care that the whole world could lend,                                                                                                                                well...
they whispered behind you, inside you again.                                                                                                

That nagging! That softly-lit din, that thought that
you were a house for yourself,
that anyone else was a guest here within,
that you'd been asked for more
than nine whole lives could provide
that it wasn't you who put-in the spear of your side!
That you could grab it out, and rosary cascade as
you'd turned each blood-drop to prayers
for the safety and health of each soul who stood-out
as needing it more than yourself.
And they bend their tortoise knees
and dress it in your sleep,
not balsamic nor leaves could assuage their love for thee.
And when you woke, the wound ran
a little less heavy,
And the spear, on the spade tare'd
a little less heavy,
And your heart's new-built gate felt
a little more ready... to
Let flow-out a bit less, hold-in it a bit more,
of an attentive wisdom, of brick made from your core.
Then slipping (by brisk step made racing to service),
what felt like a failing made not your friends nervous.
For faeries 'bove eyes came-out whilst you ah'sleeping,
and redrew the lines between you and the ceiling,
and doorframes, and tile, and meats you could offer,
and whispered reminders that you were a daughter,
and still today deserved a warm hug and bath,
even if you spent all days-out on your fine ass,
and asked that once, twice, else one dare lift a finger,
and held yourself, a loving self-affect that lingered
when thought your only true value was usage,
a salve-packet, squeezed-through then tossed
in the wastebin.

And on those worst nights,
each fairly and turtose held hands in a line,
and put-back the eyelids you tore-off for thought
unworthy
while someone else lost just a blinking of sleep
from dust caught in their eyes.
And they replaced each tooth, each toenail you'd lose,
because someone you saw needed toothpick to use.
And speaking of teeth, they replaced all those too,
and while tending and mending, they sent words to you.
They sent me, your friends, and your doubts of your doubt
to speak through, saying:
You're not only one thing
Each day you renew
Each old built-in feeling
Takes time to pursue
And in each pursuit of this, you'll stumble, you'll feel
Like the only one who must be each-other's shield.
But speaking of each-other, all that we've got
is both that, and a deep need to share you this thought. 

We love you. We love you. We love you, we do.                                                                                                                                  Not in simply trunks chopped for fire you grew                                                                                                                           from your skin, but in you.                                                                                                                                                                                        In you. There's love in you.                                                                                                                                                                                       It deserves to be cherished, attended, and                                                                                                                                                                                        when it falters from a gust that this unfair life flew,                                                                                                                       we cherish, and tend it, and stoke it anew.                                                                                                                                                                                       We stroke down your back, tickle till you laugh,                                                                                                                               we give you a bath when you can't move your hands.                                                                                                                      We hold you while you cry, we don't wipe from your eye                                                                                                   because your self-love flows through.                                                                                                                                                                                       We feel this in you.                                                                                                                                                                                        We help add our own fire from the forest's                                                                                                                                                                                       dew-fed birch-bends.                                                                                                                                                                                       We hold your light in our hearts                                                                                                                                                                                       when your hearth is spent,                                                                                                                                                                                       and whilst borrowed feed it with 
crushed walnuts and pens
which we hid in our pockets
to craft a new lens.                                                                                                                                                                                       And with love light's ambient glow honed                                                                                                                                       from each space around,                                                                                                                                                                                       a 'once-thought-empty' place where                                                                                                                                                                                       peace, love abound!                                                                                                                                                                                       When your soul's yo's been yo'ed,                                                                                                                                                                                       the dog-walk falters down,                                                                                                                                                                                       we added dry grass, and your hearth sparkles-out,                                                                                                                                                                                       and to this all the twigs and the leaves, and your flame                                                                                                                                                                                       stowed in me now returned just so safely again to                                                                                                                                                                                       its home in your chest, in your loins, in your throat,                                                                                                                                                                                       In your soul.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  We love you, each of you; or in you, -and in you.                                                                                                                         And through share of this caring,                                                                                                                                                                                       not divided shares or measured-out hair lengths                                                                                                                             to shear for a scarf made.                                                                                                                                                                                       You hold us, and when you can't keep holding,                                                                                                                                  we do. 
 We do.                                                                                                                                                         

And the faeries ask for little: your presence, your smile.
And the tortoises -who knead, and love, and feed you- ask for nothing,                                                                                                                                                                                       'Cause that's just what tortoises do.