it is raining.
10 am
clattering on the roof
and I am still in bed
the fog and tall southern trees
look like they are northern
like they are Maine or Washington
like I am somewhere familiar
my home is quiet
my room is blue and green
(colors I would have never chosen)
a bird caws
I am beginning to feel like I exist
that I am a part of the life here
the light is subdued
I sink further
the rain pauses, comes back
maybe I am camping
maybe I am loved

I know so much from who I used to be
and from the ones who watch over me.
As I return and cycle, root, and flow
my knowing, my innard, grows & grows.
The secrets aren’t complex. They are earth.
A knowing each person carries from birth.
I am glad to have siblings in mice & trees.
I am glad to see saplings & frosting & spring.
I am part of a unit much larger than me.
And in this I gain connection and my right to be free.

capricorn Kerri counts money
and compensates for her losses
with lots of cold hard truth

she says, you’re like
a tulip that bloomed in February
when there was still snow coming
you sprung forth in all of your glory
just to arrive in a moment
that wasn’t ready for you
and now you’re just some jutted textures
on a once ignited presence.

plant girl
you put your fingers first
you feel + forage + never finish
you dont fear morning dark
or afternoon heat
you mimic mother
embody base
use your ears
tire your feet
you are intuition
you are rolled up sleeve
sweat + technicalities, too
you watch in wonder
you support without a switch up
you move in knowledge of permanence
and all of its fleeting
you worship rock
you humble in storm
you frame in friendship
your tired has company
your turn out is everyone
your field is feeding
you forget you ever faked it
and finesse this freedom.

you are mine. and not mine. all yours.
you are the liquid white. the ink of a pinecone. i am your carrot. we lean on the sea. we rise in our melting. our love learns to swirl with our work. our barking diminished by ritual. this sweetness not sickening, enough to return to each day. your sniffles have even become meaningful. we lay in the moment and pray, in a way that is not prayer, but play. too dear for a blessing or eulogy, too close for an offering or song, too fragrant for a clearing or candle. too much to ever leave you alone.

diamonds are a naive dream
but setting up next to a river
is trimming off all of the excess

you arent impeccable
you anger, melt, chip, stain
but you self soothe

you expound, even your alternations
are within the realm of reason
you arent a liar and i wont mop you up

tomato plants drop and are  twined
we are the root, rod, flower, fruit, fiber
falling down, holding up

we are the looking glass, mirror, split
whole, humble shimmer and harsh set
we are as we aren't.

when my brother called me a lesbian for the first time
i screamed at him in  denial
though i had already half accepted this truth,
because i knew he did not mean  
"how wonderful, you see love in women",
but, "you are other and for this you should face ridicule"

years later, ive found a temporary home in bisexual
though i dont really do boxes
but allowing myself to fall fully into the way that you move
and find solace in your crooked tooth
is a level of living i'm glad i didn't deny

how humble i feel to live amongst this art
to see humans capable of creation and caring
and not quiet the rise in me that yells
"you are lovely!" "and you are lovely too!"
and how sad i feel for those who linger in the landscape
of compartmentalization and contracts of cramped couplehood