The Radical Mother Who Holds Us All
Drink from my well, she tells me,
And I will replenish you.
Bathe in my waters,
And I will embrace you.
Let my fields caress your feet,
The dew kiss your toes
As you stroll over the undulations
Of my landscape.
Let the thick blanket of my forest
Shelter your spirit,
The mud that cakes
Like paste on your skin
Be a salve.
Feast upon my beauty,
Not with your eyes,
But with your heart.
Feel the joy of the sunflowers,
Dancing at the ragged edge
Where asphalt meets dirt.
The alignment of sun
Between two half-moon rocks,
Cradling the ribbon of water
Cascading off a bluff, the refraction
Of light off the spray.
The rust-stained cliffs, encrusted
With iron that once poured forth
From my womb, birthing life,
Can you imagine that?
Can you imagine that life
Is bursting forth in every moment?
When the soil is cracked and parched.
When the wounds of the past bleed open
And hearts spill out with grief.