I wove our worlds together,

silk, cotton, linen,

wool for the cooler months

nothing synthetic

I would have picked the flax and cotton myself, sheared the sheep even,

but I was in the garden picking herbs and vegetables

for the soup I was making for dinner,

which I would put in the handmade bowls

I made just for us,

with the cups for all the tea I would make for you

and plates to serve meals to our friends that I found and collected

like heart-shaped rocks from the shores of my own travels,

I brought them together over food and sometimes wine

I grew and picked the flowers for the tables we gathered around

I painted paintings to adorn the walls,

knit blankets to keep us warm

and found all the ways I could to make our life beautiful,

even when things got hard.

I grew our children,

in my body,

I carried them through the nausea and fears.

I fed them for six months with my own body.

My body stretched wide and back again,

never to be the same as it once was.

I made it my priority to serve and protect them,

to nurture them,

to love them so fiercely that the love itself became a protection

to keep them from feeling the ways you and I once did

Their tears, their pain, their sadness, their heartaches, their flesh wounds

were all mine to carry and I did,

I do

It is a gift like none other, I know this,

It has been a privilege, I know this too,

but when you stand there and tell me I need to work more,

to make more money,

It makes me want to throw all the dishes at the wall,

tear up the fabric I have spent years weaving together,

and leave everything for you to clean up