Black is the only color to her
She is night
Grace is her hands
Vowels, adjectives, her own language
They fire out of fingertips
We side glance
Laughter erupts
The mountains of motherhood
Cascade sisterly love
We are gold rings
She circles the best parts of my life

My wild daughter chasing her sweet son.
They hold hands
The same way we hold the harshness of world for each other

My sacred home.
Hers, a floor below
I open her door to layered acrylic paintings,
an aromatic hug of spices
We show up in
socks
slippers
smirks
She exists in all of it
Circling and wrinkle nosed smiles
We have known each other in novels and framed photos and multiple lives
Probably nine
The crazy cat lady in us abashes
To think I felt lonely
Did that ever exist?
We ever persist
As warriors embedded by fire
We hold baby and feline
Conquering flame.
This corrupt world
Has nothing. on. us.