Remember the Burning Times
Remember the embers that sparked
the beginning of the grandmothers
whose bones rattled on branches
of trees.
Remember the moss that held the
blood of women and sticks that
smoldered as they wrote their
names.
Remember the stars that connected
them one to another like chains of
sizzling lightning in the ebb and flow
of the sea.
Remember the moon they knew to be
a woman and the language that she
bequeathed to you through her birth
canal.
Remember your mother's breath that
stirred a womb on fire leaving you
with a searing mark under your right
breast.
Remember the sussuration of wind
fanning flame fueled portals of your
history in the songs of the ancients
that circumnavigate your heart.
Remember the poetry that speaks of
death and resurrection and the words
that can still be tasted on your tongue
like a branding iron.
Remember the burning times.
(after “Remember” by Joy Harjo)
I Will
I will unbind my hair and build you a soft altar of moss
and feathers.
I will build you fires when the candles burn dim.
I will chant the words you taught me when the moon
is full and sing you an ancient hymn.
When the April rains come pouring down I will seek
your light in the cracks.
When thoughts turn black and your wisdom flails,
I will not pause to lift the veil.
Looking for Answers
Where are you from?
From the lines of a song mired in heartache
and paint by number dreams.
Where were you born?
Mid-flight on a broom above the Atlantic
Ocean in the middle of a meteor shower
during choir practice.
What day were you born?
On the day my fairy godmother wore
underwear with Sunday pinned on them.
What do you do when it rains?
Make mud pies and a puddle bath.
Who is the oldest person you know?
Esmeralda. She lives in a cave where
riddles are painted on the walls in red
lipstick, bats hang from her hair and
the air smells like death.
What do you eat for breakfast?
Poetry and clouds.
What would you do with a stranger?
Plant a garden of weeds, count shooting
stars, look for tadpoles in the creek,
and tell lies.
What is your shoe size?
Wrist to elbow.
What do you really want to know?
The first name of the Queen of Hearts.
What are your parting words?
Do not ice skate with an elephant, keep
an eraser close by, take the words of the
man in the moon seriously and know
that truth can be found in the bottom of
a garbage bin.
Cauldron of Promise
The blackened cauldron sits upon the hearth,
a fertile chamber that holds the night's promise.
It is a cast iron womb to stir her dreams,
a vessel where ancient fire is reborn,
the crucible of transformation in a stormy night.
How it tests me and burns!
Magic implies rituals, spells, charms believed
to influence natural or supernatural forces.
Here tonight they awaken.
As the ingredients boil, a ghost rises
and lingers before fading away.
The blackened cauldron sits upon the hearth,
a fertile chamber that holds the night's promise.
Unplug the Clocks
I know you think you hear the low click
of the death beetle but it is not here.
Unplug the clocks, let go of time.
Cross the creeks, walk the back roads,
keep a pen close by.
Dress your scars in sequins and lace,
see as if for the first time.
Unchain yourself from the shackles
of your own making.
Become your dreams
…....the past is no more.
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