I’m somewhere in a perfect limbo
Between yes and no
It has stopped raining
And the birds cry out
In beautiful language
I will never know
I soak myself in their melody
But the sun is not out yet
It is gray,
(Her favorite color)
And there is a lightness
When I realize
I don’t have to hold onto anything
I am not new to this
My heart is tender,
Like how you pound steak with a mallet
I know well the sting of the salt
And I like myself almost raw, too
I have so much room
And I love to let it be filled
With the after scent of you on my sheets
That never stays long
Then I look at him,
Digging feverishly into the Earth
For that intoxicating scent
And I see myself
Head down-
The hair on my neck like razors-
Scratching until my nails are stained with tiny remnants
Of where I came from-
Earth and stone,
A body in the river’s widened mouth
Whispering
Screaming to me
To please sit here longer
And love with ferocity
Until the sun comes out

I haven’t been able to make my bed
But I ate breakfast

I haven’t been able to clean out my car
But I haven’t faltered on taking my dog to hike, play, explore

I haven’t been able to organize the shelf in my room
But I rubbed lavender tallow deep beyond my skin

I have been in this threshold
Between what can wait and what matters

I haven’t been able to even think about looking for another job
But I put out a book of poetry
(And it feels so small an act)

I hold the standard high,
But differently these days.
I am cluttered,
I can’t hold onto many things for too long
But there are things, my dog, rebellion, prayer, that no longer need holding.
I held them so long we merged.
They are marrow, cells, blood.

I haven’t been choosing to do those things,
actually.
I am able - without question I could pick up the pile of clothes in the corner of my room
and fold my socks.
But it just doesn’t matter enough.
There is weight-
Things to cry about,
and I have to, I must, call my mom if I am going to be okay.

So my bed, the pile of clothes, my car, can exist as they are.
There is no harm in mess when it can be cleaned later.
But my body, my dog, my heart, the genocides,
Require me.

So much feels fickle in the face of the grief and love I bear.
The grief
I want to plant.
I want to get my hands ***** in its power.
I want it to know my name.
The love-
Oh the love.
I cannot tell you of its expanse.
I can only bring you into the flood,
Show you the mountain,
Let you feel the sun.

It is not my new year,
no, no, no.
I am still unripe.
I am still gestating,
cocooned,
quietly dreaming in mid afternoon,
waiting for the stars to tell me my name.
I am still,
I am in grief laced with longing.
Do you not remember
you
are
Nature?
The light is only slowly starting to return.
The trees know not to sprout buds
the birds are still south
it is not time to sew seeds.
Nature is resting.
Please do not find discouragement
on the other side of a failed resolution.
Find understanding
that your biology is still clinging to any remnant
of your ancestors
of midwinter days spent fireside
eating warm stew and
bread with extra extra butter.
I hope you still eat stew
and pass on the salad.
Please let the crock *** simmer all day.
Please sip warm mulled cider
and sleep in,
sleep in.
I grieve those who chastise the Sun for setting
so early.
Is that which gives us life
not allowed to rest,
to sleep in,
sleep in,
and go to bed early?
I grieve those who see Winter as one
who consumes everything
and gives nothing.
I think
she is so beautiful in her barrenness,
in her slumber.
I have an unparalleled love
for when it is cold and dark
and the kitchen smells of my dad’s
Portuguese fish chowder
and I can go to bed early,
and sleep in,
sleep in.

Dear Dream,

Many versions of this letter have been writing themselves in my head for weeks now.
It started when I ended it about three weeks ago.
Told him we'd be better off friends.
I know that's an abrupt start but your words are on replay,
"I'll never forget when you said you're painfully loyal."
So I couldn't say this without you knowing I'm not with him anymore.
I am still painfully loyal.
It's the Taurus, ruled by Venus.
So when I love,
I love passionately.
My Moon is in Cancer - zero degrees.
I'm as Cancer Moon as Cancer Moon can be,
so when I love,
I love with the weight of the Ocean.
I've learned that I don't let go and that is not a weakness.
I make space for everything to be a part of me.
My Venus is in Gemini.
They say that means my way of loving is dynamic-
does that give sense to the two voices at war in my head?
One believes in love that withstands,
one fears being abandoned.
And my Mars,
my Mars in is Aries.
Could it be more suitable?
I am headstrong in the planet of action and passion-
warrior-like, not war-like.
When I love something,
when something ignites me,
I must move towards it.
And so when you are far away,
I still look for feathers in my dreams.
I think about the night we both knew we loved each other,
lying on my bedroom floor.
We did not say it-
not with words.
It was our names hanging in each others throats.
For hours we ached over the inches between us-
felt like the mountains and oceans that are between us now.
I miss you and sometimes that feeling takes over me.
I am afraid you don't feel the same anymore and sometimes that feeling takes over me.
I want to know how you're really doing.
I want you to tell me what the sunrise looks like in Alaska
and what is keeping your heart warm.
I want to tell you that I can't wait to (I hope I get to) see you again.
I want to tell you my feelings haven't changed,
but that I've only grown more curious
of how September, October, November, December have changed you,
made you love something new,
made you cry.
What has died inside you?
Has anything come to light?
I feed death every day-
laughter,
and sunlight
and poems
and honey.
It loves everything
and I feel close to it.
Most days there is an overwhelming part of me that only wants to sit and be with grief, sexx, magic, darkness,
and the willingness of the human spirit to find hope and strength amongst hatred and decay.
But I still get up
and walk with Odin under the early morning Sun.
I learn from him how the world is new every single day.
I just want to lay with you beneath the stars
and talk about
everything.

Love,
Feather

I got my ancestral DNA results back
Was reminded I was born a thousand times
I came roaring on a song from the volcanos throat
The wind gave me my name
I am a skeleton of branches and stone
Held buoyant by the ocean’s womb
Her salt still lingers on the taste of my skin
The base pairs of my double helix
are fire and air
earth and water
You can trace me back to the serpents tongue
Enticing Eve’s rebellion in that garden
I am the first womb’s blood shed,
the first ever rain.
I am every spirit that crosses the River Styx
I am the boat, the ferryman, the afterlife, the now
My body was once four legs,
Fur and howls
I could smell the blood for miles
I am still controlled by the waxing and waning of the moon
I hide with her when she is new
I have been the predator
My teeth have ripped apart the hearts of Elk
I have been the prey
Spilling my insides across the Savanna’s floor
I know the language of mycelium
But I am no better than the maggots that emerge from decomposing flesh
I have been them, too
And I believe they have a wisdom so sacred
For they have consumed everything
My father forged me by fire
His love lives in the blue of my eyes
In every life
My mother sang me to sleep
Her voice gives shape to the curls of my hair
When I look at my reflection
I see my grandmothers
When I dance
I become my sister
And when I cry
I remember I have been born a thousand times
Just like you-
You who is the first breath of dawn,
And nightfall’s lover.
You who is the flight path of Eagles
You who is Oya’s lightning and her storm
You who carved hieroglyphics on the Rosetta Stone
You who is all of us
Who is me
You,
Who has been birthed a thousand times
And will be a thousand times more

Woke up
Early
Stepped outside
To pink and yellow clouds
Blue sky slight chill
Fell back asleep
To yesterday
Woke up
830am
Walked bare foot
Barely clothed
Through the fields beyond our house
A symphony of birds
The flow of the creek
And your footsteps
Running
Exploring
Were the only sounds
I filled my basket
(And my heart)
With milkweed flowers
And red clover blossom
And passion flower
And yarrow
And sage to keep it all clear
Lamented
That no wine berries were bursting off their buds
Remembered I’ve eaten hundreds this year
And smiled
Went to
The elder tree
She is in transition
From maiden
To mother
Holding so much medicine inside her berries
Not yet ripe
Or ready to give to the world
There has been
Sweetness to my days
And I’m savoring it
In the fridge
In a big glass jug
Of milkweed and red clover and passionflower and yarrow and sage

consume my medicine
gently
touch parts of me
not luminous
**** my shadow
into
a sacred offering