Grace found me this week wearing work gloves,
while my heart  wore soft bright  frocks
and twirled beneath the pear blossoms
listening hopeful for tender whispers
and watching for signs of love.

And always they came
dressed as long slow rambles with the dogs,
provision wrapped in surprise,
muscles worked strong and stretched smooth by sure hands,
flowers plunked smiling into cans
and  banana popsicles easing the weary from long afternoons.

And I arranged the days to make space for ballet,
to let my body remember the childhood motion
because it is joy
without the rush and urgency,
without the pressure to perform it perfectly
and this is kneading knots of ancient worry
from  places where I stored it long ago.

And grace rolled over me,
as work gloves drying on the clothesline
fluttered with wild windy bluster
and my tired eyes settled on the motion
and caught the kiss that heaven blew
as  breezes billowed beneath the gloves,
raising one,  fingertips to sky,
a graceful ballerina hand lifted high

and how the leather tough wrapping of circumstances
can’t hold down what fills the skin and bones of me,

palms up and letting go,

I am still free.