FHB

Life is too short to cross-stitch.
But long enough for silence in the car (so long
I forgot you were there
and dreams crept up on me,
wrapped warm and purred
around my legs).
Green hills, hills,
the window down, my right arm
sunburned. Blanched windbreak of a face.

Life is too long to plant nothing -
to think fruit trees won't
bear fruit (or the flowers that flower next year)
aren't worth planting.
Stars have been singing all this blooming time. (You don't
require my oblation. Why should I
save stamps?) Fold up one white dress,
eat backyard weeds in order
to give liberally (FHB),
when the bread is broken,
soggy,
gone,
seed planted.

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*FHB: "Family Hold Back"