Spoons

I create room in my heart by wearing more and more of it on my sleeve,
For there is always more to fit into it,
New songs, moments of magic and of suspended disbelief,
Sadness, hope, trust and warning signs,
People who become treasures of my soul and who will never be asked to move,
Eternal room-mates who will linger and become beloved like the faded blanket I fold into on days when it all becomes too much or when their arms are out of reach
The real estate of my heart comes at a price,
It costs salt, from my eyes or from my hard work
It costs bitterly, in apologies and in mistakes
Or in the acidic burns of slights, harsh words and painful moments of growth
And still sweetly, in laughter, love and warm words, arms that hold it all together
My sleeves are almost full, embroidered in blood red satin chain stitch, fading to palest pink,
But now I can pour it into spoons to be carried on my hands,
Hands that can hold more and can continue to protect the growth of my heart.