A swish and twirl





This week mum and I have begun making a very special dress;
"the dress" for "the day"
(if you know what I mean)
We have covered every inch of the big dining table
with cutting board, butchers paper, pins and pencils,
I can feel the light falling from the window;
glass and pane that looks on a pathway
(overgrown and moss-laden)
by the side of the house.
I can smell the drifting scent of lemony roses
from my garden to be,
I can feel the softness of fibres on my fingertips,
I can imagine what I will do when seams are sewn,
the day has come;
and I will wear this gown against my skin.
I can dream
what dreams it will see unfold,
gentle as the breeze,
a swish and twirl -
of tapping toes
souls tied,
and a kiss.