you spread the morning sun like butter over bread,

unleashing hearts like starving dogs to scraps.

You once learned that only what you know can hurt,

so you keep everything to a whisper just in case someone hears.

You bury your name in dirt, like an old dog’s bone,

saving it for later–a better time to meet.

Lidybella, you rise in the dark and shy in the light–

blooming for no one but yourself, whispering for

no one but yourself, absorbing sun for

no one but yourself.

Lidybella, a single brushstroke across a canvas.

Lidybella, an unfinished meal.

Lidybella, the sound of barking dogs–the smell of

warm butter.