Fated Flight

I was not meant to be walked upon. My colors, weft and weave too delicate for tread of feet. My fate was the sky, soft silk covered buttocks my only burden. A man of power, a woman of beauty and passion found love flying. There were children. Their tiny bodies laid on woven wool laughing, soaring over deserts, oasis, cities. I was old with centuries of burdens, imbued with dusty forgotten places. A loose thread pulled, tugged by wind and little fingers. One gold tassel took flight, and us falling, falling, falling. Snow flowers along my edges turned violent crimson poppies; salted tears crusted supple fabric. There would be no more flight. Dismembered, disheartened, crucified flat and yet undying. A spike for each corner, deep driven into white marble at the doorstep. I came to know leather boots, silken curl toed slippers, steel shod hooves, and again the soft patter of tiny bare feet. Carnelian to blush, azure to ice, mauve to mud. Wool to dust and gold to flakes. Forgotten was the sky, the birds, the evening breeze; all but the threads that should have been white, and tassels that no longer adorned me. The pegs wore down in their holes. I did not leave. Then old hands, woman's hands, wrinkled and fine, un-staked and repaired. Old gold re-found. Stability. Hope. A balcony and a breath of wind. You were my freedom first, and then my deepest grief. I forgive you. Let us be free together once again...