Ceremonials (ii)

You were all-consuming
and I chose to feed you,
a hunger I did not understand,
a fire I could not bend.

I filled my night hours
with smoke and coals,
fragments of your voice in my mouth,
every word deep in my chest,
every exhale a reluctant release.

I put my embers into a fountain pen
and wrote you love poems.

You should feel honored.
You had me spinning out on dreams.

But these pages have curled right up, my darling;
we've run all out of air.

There are ashes everywhere.

The Nightingale

A nightingale
alighted in my hand,
slipped through my ribs
and built a nest there.
I fed it honey and laughter;
he sang me to sleep and filled my dreams
with treetops and twilight skies.

Last night he brushed my cheek with a wingtip
when he took flight.
I held my hand there
as I bid him goodbye.



-03.15.14

Ceremonials (i)

I walked into a fire pit,
it melted my hard edges.

I shimmered golden,
pulsed like a supernova,
died like a star and was
reborn,
pulsating, pulsating.

I danced, a flame-child
closer to your blaze,
let it touch me, ooh baby
you couldn't burn me.

I walked into the fire pit
and it melted my hard edges,

thawed my heart,
at last.

In my country

In my country,
there is a wilderness that
moans
under the fog
as it settles
in the valley
between intimacy
and
soft thighs.

dream sequence (ii)

last night in between the hours of moonlight and birdsong,

i rested my soul in the space between your smile and your cheek.

curled my entire body right into it,
fit like a dream.

Parting prayer

Your lips part like cemetery gates;
I hesitate,
bow my head and whisper prayers
for every soul that has pressed against your mouth
and left, breathing.

I want to step inside,
bury myself under an evergreen,
feed you for a century
or more.

Lovesong of a Curandera

The lovesong of a curandera

drips like nectar from her lips.

I want to kiss her on the mouth

that sings my soul to peace,

licks my wounds, and

heals the rifts in my psyche.

I want to take her hands

and place them around my heart,

beg her to sculpt and stitch it

whole again.

Sometimes all she does is listen,

watches my tears

and says

Look, mija. The ocean comes for you.

It takes the pebbles under your feet

and rolls them smooth

for you

to pick the prettiest and wear around your neck

or to throw back into the blue.

Espéra, strange and beautiful one.

and that will be all the hope I need

to breathe a little deeper,

throw open my soul

and dream again.

---

With love, to my curanderas and curanderos.