Skip to main content

Before Dominion

Before dominion over air and land and sea
out on thin ice with jackal and seal
ptarmigan and tadpole
before dominion
did we join pleasure and suffering
hand by hand
was pain of pox purple as it transformed
newborns coral pink into some sacred giveaway
did we kneel to kiss the ground
wailing in celebration of an icy magic
draining one life, filling another
taking eye for eye so all could see
how did we kiss the ground
together nose to trunk
bark to feather
singing bones and snapping fingers
did we climb tunnels to find where scars
ended and new petals emerged
did we color the water sanguine as
we crowded clay churned shores
so to howl at our triumph over thirst
for another day
roll on our backs, kicking the tawny air
with hoof and talon
before dominion
did we feed on our best parts
tenderloin and opal visions
hot fire to signal the fact
we never asked to be born
and find it all the more fullfilling
before dominion
did we forget to be separate
forget about everything but to swim in the dance
inside coming out on long stilted legs
listening for the story
how thunder found its voice in us

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Death Might Be Just A Holy Rend

  Death Might Be Just A Holy Rend And life a faithful pillow - a pillow to go flat, a spirit to drift off,  glaciers to melt and raise the sea. The blueprint is clear - Expect a tiny storm of mercy–  full of crows and bottle flies to debride the corpse,  to tithe the land.      And respect the putrid demise - things that fall apart make space for miracles.   Yet there persists the memory of breath rinsed in lavender and salt air. Then the dreams for blood and semen to revive, to metabolize  every tired, sad gospel into a hatch of octopus. Death confesses everything as she conjures her necrosis, as she feigns redemption, fools us with false devotion. She believes our defiance will set her free.   We must let grief to be the thread and needle to darn the rend, renew the cloth. then we can grasp the nascent green of winter wheat in spring.
Post a Comment
Read more

Cream on Whiskey

-- Women's March first anniversary 2018 Crone privilege abides here in the steady pour of the Mississippi. Her laughter, belly deep, shadows grackles and gulls, her inconvenience, forever indentured with her shoals, and her easy is fickle, full of silt and minnows. Crone privilege abides here. Out of the modern drudge, we know these truths: Wisdom is love, love is patience, patience takes its time. On the shoulders of old women, it pushes boulders up a hill, Defying the Sisyphean habit – they will roll it up and over, be done with that. Crone privilege abides here. Call us queen bees, a riot of pussies, hand maidens over done. Maya Angelou made her heart into a mantra, now when we straighten our backs, the chrysalis splits wide, and like cream on whiskey              we rise.
Post a Comment
Read more