Unlocked.
The problem, of course,
with returning from a wild place
is your feet can never seem to re-find purchase.
Like a newborn hoofed beast,
you end up splayed and on your face,
which is better anyway,
because it is heartbreaking
to keep looking up and only catch a glimpse
of real light amid false bulbs
instead of the giant sky-bowl
you once drank from.
When down as low as the earth,
at least you can dream of up.
Today marked my third anniversary of writing and sharing it online (thanks for the reminder, WordPress!). It seemed like a good time to look back a bit at how I’ve grown from when I first started writing, to compiling my first book two years ago, and now…
With “She Spoke of Earth and Sky,” you will read a woman finding her voice amid the landscapes of experience, imagination, and the wood and valleys of Pennsylvania. (And I promise not to talk about myself too often in the third person.)
Thank you for your support.
What a magnificent flight,
she thought,
watching him wheel
ahead of the gathering storm.
Does he tremble inside too,
she wondered,
with the possibility of not making it across in time?
Could he carry my words,
she hoped,
singing along with his tune
over mountains far away?
What long days,
she thought,
gone too soon
leaving her clutching just a feather.
gingerly, greedily
lapping up outside dust
as it gathers on the lips
a svelte view
if you sit still
long enough,
you can see the horizon
fall away
leaving you the conductor
of a new proscenium
It was a desert
(not my first)
and how it tasted of stretched skin!
sort of briny and red…
I wonder at sleep
and if it affects the gift of mirage;
how hopes or terrors enter unbidden
when the body fights for space.
Will I have to fill myself
forever and ever?
It was a moment
when sun flickered behind a cloud
and the stoplight changed,
pushing me forward.
