DUST
Her duty as a child
lay in weaving loveless dust
into a richly patterned cloak
acceptable
to a world which, she saw,
did not want harsh textures.
Being a child, her mind
sometimes wandered from this task
and flaws would slip
into the fabric.
Now grown, she draws the cloth
tightly round herself,
embarrassed
by its imperfections,
suspecting its thinness
can only be her fault.