In the sunshine sits a softened soul, still but breathing I contemplate my gratitude— No! Look here! Feel here! Do you feel this beating heart the coursing blood? You sing along to the sea gulls tho’ your eyes be dry— the spring inside! It is simply enough to be here and be breathing; Her gift to you is reverence and a sense of … Read More How to Feel
She smelled like bubble gum and humanity burst back into vision when I passed her. I’d been browsing license plates like self-help manuals and shaping my shoes against the concrete carpets. My vision was dull black the birds sounded flat for the third time in a lifetime I’d asked for plastic at the local Countdown. I was resolved to stay sane but only … Read More She, Like a Bubble
There are so many concepts I don’t understand so many theories I can’t fathom I don’t know little things like the number of people in my town or whether my maternal side is republican or otherwise. I don’t know what it’s like to be a black woman, or
In the darkness I drape legs over the back of the bench rest back upon the wooden planks. Arms unleash and dissolve to the ground, fingers spread to caress velvet Grass. The curl of the seat tilts chin to Stars who moan beneath Shroud. I sing along. Wind captivates waterfall hair and Earth waits. We are breathless.
As Earth groans and shivers I observe Mountain grow taller; the childbearing summit, too many spines to count in a single lifetime, she sees me. So small below. She gathers Wind and bids him go to me. He whistles through my hair, disrupting cyclical thoughts, for a spell, with gusts of play, then rises and rejoins her. She invites Sunlight in for tea … Read More Mountain Grows Taller
My dreams are the dew on the morning grass and the sound of the drops ‘neath the leaping grasshopper. It seems the cold darkness of a swallowed night blessed the condensation of what deeply matters; that which shines bold against the thousand thrashing insects. I wish I could say thank you, say anything, really, but the sunshine is blossoming over my closed eyelids and … Read More My Dreams are the Dew
Goats climb high on bamboo branches attempt to avoid the electric fence and I’ve got to say we have that last bit in common. Their switch is to my left and I flick it off. I wonder to whose left is my switch. It’s consistently on— a quick jolt on the left arm, a sharp buzz through the kneecap I don’t know the pattern … Read More Contemplating Goats