[wpaudio url=”/audio/september12/Songs.mp3″ text=”listen to this poem” dl=”0″]
She reads rivers, plants,
stars, measures her life
between wolf moon and candle-flame,
Polaris and roseroot.
Wooly worms and the croaks of toads
tell her when to take shelter.
Falling stars augur fair
weather and a blood moon
brings rain: ashes, dirt, swirls
of black feathers. She drops a stone
into the well but finds the loudest
echoes ripple through her mind.
At night she closes her eyes
and boards the constellation Carina,
the sparkling ship that sails the sky.
She looks back at earth with its broken
people and wonders what is left
when a snake’s rattle
makes the night’s music.
She becomes a stream, rocks
along her spine, vines wending
through her fingers, mint, ripe
berries, the scent of green.
Men dip their cups into her heart;
cows lick her toes.
Silences slip between breath
and heartbeat, the pause
after a bird’s call;
she fills her hands with emptiness
of spaces between leaves
and learns to become whole.