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genesis
In the beginning
Two hands shaped me;
One, a fearful absence,
The other warm but gripped by sorrow
and I, soft and pliable between them,
A small animal alone in their wild.
Our home was humble and dark,
hidden in the shadow of mountains.
I ate wild berries and goat turds -
too young to tell the difference;
I slept under stars,
a rough canvas the only barrier between me
and a feral moon.
Then, rough walls;
held together by stubbornness and desperation
My Father, the sky, cold and distant.
My Mother, a field; her grass so
tender and sharp
I would cut myself on her
blog
the gospels
If I could
I would go back there and find you
pull you out from under that bed
and say, "There you are, I've been looking for you."I'd wrap you up in my arms and tell you, "I am here, I'll keep you safe."
And when his rage was louder than his heart, I would stand between you and him
and blow fire so hot his wretched fists would turn to ash. Because I am wilder than old broken men.
I would tell you that you are lovely
and precious, and sweet, and good
that I loved your small tender heart.
I would lay with you in the darkness when your heart ran wild like runaway horses and I would sing you back to sleep.
Though children can't go back
and reparent their mothers
the egg that made me was there in your small belly, so I was with you then
and I'm with you now.
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I am a dirt person, intimately acquainted with the soil. But I am not the dust swept around by my mother's broom, hopefully yet carelessly dispersed.
No my dirt whispers poems of new growth and the slowly decaying leaves around me are a symphony of spores falling apart to become the air I breathe. Each breath is a history, filling my lunges with stories and although they may deconstruct they will never be broken. I am not broken.
Because in spite of the yelling and the guns and the drinking and the despair and the wandering hands, the dirt sang songs of hope;
"I am right here", it said, "I am with you. Like old wood it's ok to fall apart. Don't bury it. Let it sit on the top of your ground and rot. Let it disintegrate. Send your roots deep into the dark earth, drawing nutrients from the decay.
Then push back. You can rise. Become new life. This is old growth magic.
You are how forests grow.