The Past Is Here
The past is here in lands and oceans that have witnessed innumerable cycles of birth and death since the dawn of time.
The past is here since the sun has risen every morning and the
moon every evening, inviting all beings to bask in their glow.
The past is here in ancient mythology we still read to ascertain
meaning, in elemental rituals we still use to mark time.
The past is here in borders birthed by bygone wars.
The past is here in the structures we inhabit, the sweat of long dead
workers fossilized inside brick, concrete and stone.
The past is here in our DNA; reincarnation with every new
generation.
The past is here because not a day goes by when I don’t see my
father’s face fully alive in my mind; if only he’d had the courage to live.
The past is here because I found my courage to live the day we put
his body in the ground.
The past is here when I rest my hand against my chest and feel the
rhythm of the same heart that beat inside my mother long before I could breathe
with my own lungs.
The past is here when I run my fingertips along the knotted
muscles between my ribs re-telling myself the story of how I am still alive.
Rockabye
The nature goddesses have transmogrified into a
halo of fairies, their gold-flecked wings flitting
about
my crown, crooning lilting lullabies to elicit
a listen from my listless tympanum, delivering
this restless
reckless message: I want you/I need you
before it’s too late; time is running out.
You: an unfettered unburdened unborn
non thing, no thing, not even a spark;
a tiny ripple in the pool of my imagination.
If the goddesses successfully sing you into
the cradle of my womb,
rock-a-bye you until the bough breaks,
hurdle you onto a scorched earth that
doesn’t want you/doesn’t need you,
(with horrors that will break you),
despite my most heroic efforts, nothing I say or
do
will prevent you from one day falling into
the inferno
on your knees, face in the embers
pleading with the goddesses for an answer to
the
litany of whys that gnaw at your heart.
The Amethyst Forest
In the amethyst forest
A crystal haven,
Milk thistle palace.
Humans have sought refuge for
Thousands of years.
On the outskirts, there's a sapling
With a montage of extinct animals
etched into its trunk.
Mighty mycelium
On a most noble mission to
Weed, detoxify,
Clear space for
Roots to link arms with roots,
To nurture and maintain foundation,
Seek psychic connection’s water
And spiritual expansion’s light.
Check your schedule—
Let's find a mutually agreeable time to
meet in the amethyst region of forest
Lay our flesh down upon the cool earth,
Reach our hands in and through.
Amanda Erin Miller is a Brooklyn-based writer and performer
who earned her MFA in Creative Writing from The New School. Amanda’s
nonfiction, fiction, and poetry have appeared in The Rumpus, Freerange
Nonfiction, PEN America’s Temperature Check: Covid-19 Behind Bars, Sylvia
Magazine, JewishFiction.net, Hare's Paw Literary
Journal, Fearsome Critters, Quaranzine: Art in Isolation, Chortle,
Cratelit, So Long: Short Memoirs of Loss and Remembrance, Underwired Magazine and
other publications. She is the co-editor of Words After Dark: A Lyrics,
Lit & Liquor Anthology (2020) and author of One Breath,
Then Another: A Memoir (2012). Since 2012, she has produced Lyrics,
Lit & Liquor, an NYC literary and performance series. Amanda serves on the
Nonfiction committee for PEN America’s Prison Writing Contest and has toured
her solo shows to festivals in the U.S., Canada and Scotland. www.lucidriverpress.com
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