In the City, A New Congregation Finds Her
She keeps safe our memory when nothing’s committed to stone
Sibilant selvedge woman thread and knots talkstory womanShe whose memories not paperbound lover of midnight words
Scrawled myth upon flesh woman indigo testimony tattoo womanWe bring her spirits we’ve captured in bottles
Fire water woman imbibes the spirits womanWe bring her dried tobacco leaves and tea
Exhales the word woman fullmoon weaving womanShe looses her thick hair from its pins and coils
Litany liturgy woman stitching suture womanShe settles into her favorite chair she always begins like this
Soul gatherer woman spiderweb songbird womanShe breathes steam from tea steeped stems and petals
Piece and patchwork woman down home cookin womanShe crushes anise stars sweetens nightmare into reverie
Stone by stone woman singed and soot womanShe cups glazed clay between cracked hands
Silver winged bird woman riverine dream-filled womanShe rubs together palms callused she who conjures for us a feast
Sugar tinctured moonwoman twittering songstress moonwomanShe whose eyes widen with black thundercloud and sea
Salt luster sirenwoman winter solstice madwomanShe whose voice billows and peals she whose eyes gaze nowhere
Howling nomad madwoman cut the bullshit madwomanHer lips release language not of paper sometimes (we think) she forgets
Older than the ocean woman sargassum and seashell womanShe who has kept vigil always she of the wing-kissed sunset
Sipping starlight woman before there was a nailed god woman
~*~
Having Been Cast, Eve Implores 2
With lines borrowed from Jennifer Sweeney
Dear night sky, dear veil, hear me. A lullaby aches in my ribcage. Today, I am a dovecote, and there are songbirds cooing inside, twittering, goldened, precious. How they all at once alight as I open my body to your waning autumn moon. I am waiting for you to fill me.Dear wounded one, I dream you are fading, though you are not lost to me. The starlight of your bones still pulls me to you, to your pieces of worship, to the work of your hands. I still know the whisper of your scarring fissures; I know these are calling to me.
Dear impossible song, dear vesper song, you wander along the sun’s path, its lowest point, this longest night. I know this, the music of your promise. And still I hope implausibly, for today, my body is an earthen bowl to be filled, and to be filled again.
~*~