To the sisters
who have come
to cut this cloth,
to help patch these
velvet pieces,
to weave this hierophant’s
robe. This holy man’s
cloak for the
most mortal.

Put down your scissors.
I wear this Joseph’s
coat now. Put down your
pretty color pieces
of illusion,
of romantic deception
from self.

Sisters, my dearest,
beloved sisters,
gathered for this rite,
this most sacred ritual
of love. It isn’t
this artifact
makes me now
woman whole
without man.

It is the gathering
of my sisters
come to cut this cloth,
this eclectic vision
merged and strong
seamed. Symbol full,
love full of hands
touched on cloth
in unison of
woman rite.

To the sisters
who were there
when my own pieces
were unseamed pretty
illusion of self.
To the sisters
who have come
to cut this cloth
made me high priestess,
in holy man’s robe,
I wear now
a celebration of you.