every woman bent and broken in two
bracing upon a birthing bed
her very seed belongs to first woman
who belonged to Divinity swooping
as if she had wings
you were borrowing this babe
your breath her first breath
black haired blond haired red haired bald
ten toes ten fingers eyes nose mouth
all accounted for all in their places and spaces
skin yellow brown black pink
eyes still seeing heaven studying you
who were her nest
this is you in this now
laying in a hayloft smothered by sweet
scents of loose hay
streaks of sunlight slipping through cracks
a divine light haydust mote something to focus on
picture this girl
riding on hub of a tractor wheel
going somewhere with father
down to a ranch a field a river bottom
where cranes clack at our presence
stirring summer’s air with wild wings
and she was free to run
this is you now unfolding from over his body
going out into melting Harvest Moon
to be wrapped in her warm quilt of solace
away from wheels clunking down ramp
and ring of gurney clicking into vehicle
to carry him darkly from his deathbed
do not look pretend for a moment
no owl has called his name
this is only you and the moon
see this old woman wrapping self
in memories of a languid lake
listing on back of a swan black
leaving muddied ether trying to have sailing
slip yoke of sorrows away back past
so she can see the moon more clearly twice
on mirror of lake
paddling barely perceptible girl
drop your wasted worries like a loose cloak
tell tales write myths your myths
about riding swans on prairie lands
riding tractors riding all your memories
ride your dreams on moonlight
tell how you got here who birthed you
why you got here and while you are thinking
of where you are going
be divinity on this black swan life
©Carol Desjarlais 2.2.22
Sometimes, poetry is a way to express some truths of your life. I know what is between the lines and what the phrases mean to me. Art journaling can do this for you.
So very deep and honest this poem, told in an almost dreamlike way, I feel.
ReplyDeleteI so agree about expressing some truths about your life through poetry. Even when you write poems about seemingly disconnected things they have to be colored by the unique rainbow that is you.
Blessings and love,
Allen
Thank you so much, Allen. I lsot my poetic Muse to grief and I am resurrecting her.
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