The sun did shine on a fixer – upper

Not shiny,
Nor polished,
Not a wax shine,
Nor glistening sun glean,
I knew you would not be perfect.
I sat with my knees bent,
Cradled into my chest,
And asked God if I knew how to love.
Did I really know how to look at a house,
And see that the front yard had tried to grow flowers,
And the paint chipping off the shed
Could be a welcoming place?
I knelt down,
Feeling the blades of grass with my fingers.
My mother comes out and behind her the sun shines,
And the breeze rustles our skirts.
We smile,
And I laugh that I love her when she says nothing at all but looks at me with words in her cheeks.
Tall stalks of corn are ahead, 
And my father plucks an ear of corn,
And waves at me.
His storytelling eyes,
And booming laugh – causes the birds to whistle a low tune.
I think back to what I asked God for.
Did I know how to love?
With my hands around my cup of coffee,
I idle myself with faces of those in my past and question if I was at fault for letting them go.
Was I at fault for not fighting hard enough?
No.
No silver plated mirror,
No bedazzled treasure trove,
No luminescent dream.
My love stringed together my years and sought that I ought not to feel shame for feeling.
My love sat with me,
As I stepped onto the porch of that house and smiled.
In the distance,
I waved at my parents,
I waved at my genuine friends.
And as I tilled my garden,
I thought my love cannot wait…
It will burst out of me:
Shining,
Bright,
And free.

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