in process

In the fall time
when the harvest comes
and the air turns cool
And I am left alone

I become both angry and afraid
In demand
Pulled and pushed and prodded and needed

But then a routine emerges
We grow accustomed

And then
I feel powerful
Capable
Independent

sometimes feel s like the end of the world
And sometimes feels all together manageable,

We are such moody creatures
We women,

We bribe and we plead
With ourselves
And these small creatures
Who surround us

We move as if one hand is tied behind our backs
We accomplish
Against all odds.
We feel so very alone.

Its not that we have to make all the hard decisions
Its that all decisions are now hard.

we know enough to allow the struggle

We love our small tyrants

We wait for rain,
For puddles and splashing

Wait for dark
For the moonrise
Which we watch in awe together,
Her love for the moon is something I did not teach
She came to it on her own
Or was born with it perhaps
Innate
As some things are.

We regrow

We harvest
We eat
And dig
And dry
And try to make things last for as long as possible

We bring the colors of the outside in

We peel and plan for next year

We are in a place that is strange
Unfinished,
Because truthfully every place is strange and unfinished

We each feel a full rainbow of emotion
Forgetting in the moment that they are each a gift

Forgetting the feeling of going years without the release of a good solid cry
Without so many portions of a truthful life

And truthfully we cannot be powerfully anything
Without being truthful

Loudly truthful
Irritatingly truthful.

I wonder often why so many others can do it
So much better than me

Forgetting that perception is a liar
Always taking us down impossible paths

But I will try to instead
Declare my truths loudly
And in that declaration
Hope that I am heard

I will remember that
decomposition brings fertility
and so release what is dark and thick
And smells like life

prepare the ground around us
So it is full of richness from
the selves that we let fall away

night breeze

I feel the breeze through
the bedroom window
on a summer night
as I sit with my baby
at my breast,

it’s the end of summer
and finally the coyotes
have returned.

their song comes through
the open window and in the
odd hours of the early morning
they keep me company
in the quiet and the dark.

The cool comes on quickly and
autumn makes herself known
as the warmth of the day
arrives later and later.

Daylight makes lessons learned
in the dark harder to remember.

There is a feeling of relief
and then dismay
when I realize that
I am still myself,
despite the drastic
changes to my
definition.

Stretch marks,
like any other scar,
are a reminder
of where I’ve been
a record on my body
of each destination
and crash.
A mind may forget
but the body remembers.

It is written on my bones
and this body will find a way.

In a time of crisis
I strain to remember
what coyote taught me
about the lighthearted
nature of the universe
I say it over and over again
in my head, hoping repetition
will make it stick.

Her mouth curves into a wide grin
around my nipple and
again I am in love.

 

 

 

 

Published on Zoomoozophone Review

night breeze

I feel the breeze through
the bedroom window
on a summer night
as I sit with my baby
at my breast,

it’s the end of summer
and finally the coyotes
have returned.

their song comes through
the open window and in the
odd hours of the early morning
they keep me company
in the quiet and the dark.

The cool comes on quickly and
autumn makes herself known
as the warmth of the day
arrives later and later.

Daylight makes lessons learned
in the dark harder to remember.

There is a feeling of relief
and then dismay
when I realize that
I am still myself,
despite the drastic
changes to my
definition.

Stretch marks,
like any other scar,
are a reminder
of where I’ve been
a record on my body
of each destination
and crash.
A mind may forget
but the body remembers.

It is written on my bones
and this body will find a way.

In a time of crisis
I strain to remember
what coyote taught me
about the lighthearted
nature of the universe
I say it over and over again
in my head, hoping repetition
will make it stick.

Her mouth curves into a wide grin
around my nipple and
again I am in love.

Recently published in The Zoomoozophone Review Issue 3