Wild Woman Embers
Grief Work
If you come as softly
As wind within the trees
You may hear what I hear
See what sorrow sees.
If you come as lightly
As threading dew
I will take you gladly
Nor ask more of you.
You may sit beside me
Silent as a breath
Only those who stay dead
Shall remember death.
And if you come I will be silent
Nor speak harsh words to you.
I will not ask you why, now.
Or how, or what you do.
We shall sit here, softly
Beneath two different years
And the rich earth between us
Shall drink our tears.
~Audre Lorde
The Blanket Around Her
maybe it is her birth
which she holds close to herself
or her death
which is just as inseparable
and the white wind
that encircles her is a part
just as the blue sky
hanging in turquoise from her neck
oh woman
remember who you are
woman
it is the whole earth
~ Joy Harjo
🌎
Photo by Ruthie Martin
on Unsplash
She is the Source
She is intuition,
she is far-seer,
she is deep listener,
she is loyal heart.
She encourages humans to remain multilingual;
fluent in the languages of dreams, passion, and poetry.
She whispers from night dreams,
she leaves behind on the terrain of a woman’s soul
a coarse hair and muddy footprints.
These fill women with longing to find her, free her, and love her.
She is ideas, feelings, urges, and memory.
She has been lost and half-forgotten for a long, long time.
She is the source,
the light,
the night,
the dark,
and daybreak.
~Clarissa Pinkola Estes
🌙☀️
Wild Embers
We are the blood
of the witches
you thought were dead.
We carry witchcraft in our bones
whilst magic still sings
inside our heads.
When the witch hunters
imprisoned our ancestors
when they tried to burn the magic away.
Someone should have
warned them
that magic cannot be tamed.
Because you cannot burn away
what has always
been aflame.
~Nikita Gill, “Wild Embers”
Gratitude for Time and Light
The Word
Down near the bottom
of the crossed-out list
of things you have to do today,
between “green thread”
and “broccoli,” you find
that you have penciled “sunlight.”
Resting on the page, the word
is beautiful. It touches you
as if you had a friend
and sunlight were a present
he had sent from someplace distant
as this morning—to cheer you up,
and to remind you that,
among your duties, pleasure
is a thing
that also needs accomplishing.
Do you remember?
that time and light are kinds
of love, and love
is no less practical
than a coffee grinder
or a safe spare tire?
Tomorrow you may be utterly
without a clue,
but today you get a telegram
from the heart in exile,
proclaiming that the kingdom
still exists,
the king and queen alive,
still speaking to their children,
—to any one among them
who can find the time
to sit out in the sun and listen.
~Tony Hoagland
in Sweet Ruin, 1992
☀️
Image: Pacific Sun
by Nancy Lankston
The Unspeaking Center
She who reconciles the ill-matched threads
of her life, and weaves them gratefully
into a single cloth—
it’s she who drives the loudmouths from the hall
and clears it for a different celebration
where the one guest is you.
In the softness of evening
it’s you she receives.
You are the partner of her loneliness,
the unspeaking center of her monologues.
With each disclosure you encompass more
and she stretches beyond what limits her,
to hold you.
~Rainer Maria Rilke
☽☾
#SelfLove