Today was a sad song day
And I am alive.

I read a poem about love and tomatoes
that moved me to tears

And it’s raining now,
storming.

And I am alive.

Were I a different kind of mother,
the kind from movies,
I would wake you up so we could run outside and dance flailingly in the front yard as the neighbors peer through their slatted blinds, shaking their heads.

The storm has already slowed, though.
It always ends eventually.

The rain will bring tomatoes
and soften the grass between your tiny toes.

And I am alive.

How perfectly my aliveness fits my every me,
how much room there is in here.
If fill my aliveness to the very top, somehow it is never full,
there is always space for another swirling galaxy,
another thunderstorm
another sad song.

Tomorrow there will be tomatoes
and soft grass and tiny toes.

Today was a sad song day.
And I am alive.

Brevity
So treasured
As if a soul could be measured

Finally back to my womb,
to the ocean of my gestation,
the peace of my creation

Old bones,
and the supple space between each.
Sleep now, they beseech,
such parts unknown
only dreams may reach

Exhaustion glazes the surface of every moment,
softens the corner of every thought,
until saturnine darkness enfolds the light at last.

Come, she purrs,
her long black nails hooking the thread of the veil,
drawing it back and back as it melts to milk and the smoke curls wantonly.
Sandalwood and palo santo;
Cinnamon and marigold and pomegranate seeds.

No lighted path behind, here,
nor threat of day,
nor forking ire.
Only dreamward are you lead.
Only dreamward do you desire.

A rare steak with red wine
to rend with my teeth
to replace the shed iron,
to soothe the ache of my emptying body,
to rebuild the temple
in sateen and velvet,
to nourish the traveling soul who at last commits their divine Knowing
to divine Being,
to provide safe passage from There to
Here.
To prepare for the guest who may never appear.