you leave
leave and go
then come back
and take
want to stay
friends for you
when it suits
you
leave and have
me too
what kind
of privilege
is that?
selfish
poetry
Hair and Body
i keep
the hair
on my body
because i want to –
it’s nature
soft
the hurt
will pass
i no longer
hold it close
i let it go
with softness
and patience
and love
Saltkisses Misses
I miss your saltkisses, your cold caress. As I welcome winter and I’m reminded to rest, I will come to you with arms open wide, ready to kiss the day with you again.
A Deep Attachment To This World
“The most sublime act is to set another before you.” William Blake, Proverbs of Hell
Let me honour you. Hold you up to the light. Explore, examine and praise your simple beauty, your blessed grace.
Shiny, hard nut. Chestnut. Conker. Like my heart, you will soften and give under the right conditions, under the right love.
Who do you belong to? Where do you belong? I ask you, but really I ask myself.
It’s rude to stare, to touch but I’m attached to you whether I want to be or not. We are both citizens of the Earth. This Earth.
I’m not alone in this world I’m connected to you. Chestnut to brown. Brown to chestnut. Skin to skin. We are kin.
And I feel your hurt too.
In the Earth of her Voice is the Remnants of Fire
If I allowed curiosity and love to seep through the wounds, I wouldn’t be here now at the page trying to make sense of it.
A black girl walks through the meadow, enters the dark woods and forfeits her life. And I can’t but think if she was white …
Trust. Always difficult for me to hold, like light on burnt leaves. Like the coming of winter any day now.
The race talk, an accumulation of cautionary tales told through time, she, with earth in her voice, filled the void of rage with what was right for her soul. Joy.
My Mother was the Moon, the Earth, the Song
As I pull into the roadside drenched in memory, I practice breathing. Cycle through the minutes trying to gain ground.
She was silence behind her smiles. Behind her ample flesh. I burnt down our bonds because she dropped before her time.
I’ve too much fire to ever accept her truth. Too much sense to feel the moon held her fullness.
Late into the night standing by the window, she waited for my return. Without fail. I took her love and joy without a backward glance.
I am dark. Too dark. But meaning comes with the light. My own light, learning to shine from the inside out.
I wish she had her chance. I take her picture sitting in the grass amongst the trees and seal it into memory.
The earth she could not give me. She didn’t know how as she laughed her soul into existence.
I am red. All of it. And not at all. But with eyes wide open, body claiming space daily, I listen to her song and bathe in the moonlight.
In the dark with my own sacredness
So I close my eyes. Allow the dark to fill. Feel flaky dust around my ankles and know they are ashes.
Everything has burnt down. To leave fertile ground from which to stand. To rise. But when?
I am indigo. I am not indigo. The stars are not enough. And yet they draw my eyes and heart.
I came close to love reaching from the shadows of a mountainside where women of my family fell.
Memories and pain etched on the skin of my bones, I know what I need and want but I don’t know how or who.
Raw, I cannot dream enough colour to hold me. And yet ripe full of longing, I walk the landscape holding my power with an open heart and listen to the blood rain blooming.
Living Wild Studios 