I gather
My parts
Here
For practice.
And,
Knowing,
I declare, and
I ask,
And suppose,
There
And
Find
It hard
To hear
The yearnings
Of flesh
And bone
Now
From within
My constructions
Of then.
And then,
Knowing
Goes on
Without
Me,
And I practice.

As I
Ease into
Pose
Of a corpse
I wonder
At the edges
We construct
Between us,
How real
The chasm
Seems
When I
Succumb
To the urge
To set
Both form
And beat.

I sat
Today
In stillness
And watched
Her construct
Riddles
And mazes
And puzzles
For me
To try
To solve.
And when
I noticed
Myself
Trying,
I pulled
My lungs
Open
To make
Room
For less
Than trying
And more
Than solving,
And touched
The answer,
The center,
The vision
Within,
And beyond
The problem.
And she
Looked
Into
My eyes
And said,
“And this is how we practice.”
And I
Handed
Her
The prize
And said,
“And this is why we practice.”

Moving
This body
On grass
Between stones
In swirls
Upon swirls
Switching back
And around
Until start
Becomes end.
One step
Then another
Marks the silence
Gathering
Within.

I settle
And listen
And my path
Reveals
Itself
One reach
One twist
One bend
At a time
Between
The edges
Of my mat.
And I long
To remember
This ease
When I stow
My mat
And settle into
My life.

I start
Off flat,
My mind
Flowing,
Bumpy
And quick,
And passing
Me by.
And I watch,
As I rise,
My grip
Close
Around this
Word,
Then
That
Which
Slips between
Feelings,
Sensations,
To push
Me along.
And I
Reach
And I grasp,
And I grip,
And release,
And don’t
Notice
The effort
Until
I let go.

Feet planted,
I sweep
The world
Around me  
With arms
And wrap
Them
One around
One,
As hips
Call for space
And I extend
And I fold
And I breathe
And I reach
And I settle
Before sweeping
Back
To the start,
To listen
For
What
Comes
Next.

I lay soft spots
About
And drape her parts
Across and over
To rest and
Expand
To let
This all
In
With room left
For her.  
And I,
And she,
Feels
Gratitude.

He spits
As he speaks
And thrashes
About
Insisting
His rights
Outweigh
His duty
To serve
And I spit
Anger
For those
He will cause
To suffer.
And then -
I breathe
And let
My mouth form
Simple words
Of ancient
Sentiment,
And I remember
Him,
And recognize
The weakest parts
Of me.

The bayou,
Named after
The saint,
Named as
My mother’s brother,
Doubles
The trees
And sky
Perfectly,
Rich greens and blues,
Like windows
For my church.
And I wonder
About my inverse
Who stays
Hidden
Until I’ve
The courage
To remember
To walk on water.

I’ve long known
Two
To walk beside me —
One fighting  
In the tension
Between chaos
And order,
One flowing
Where simplicity
And complexity
Meet.
Both Grandmothers,
Covering me with love
Filling me with strength
And guiding me with light.
And there,
In the light,
In the strength,
And the love,
I meet the third,
In the tension
Between then
And now,
Between all
And none,
Between you
And I.
And we are beautiful,
In the tension
Between pain
And bliss.
And once I’m able,
I braid my hair
And find my feet
For our journey
Has just
Begun.

“Power,”
I say.
“My word is power.”
And the hesitation
Is as great
As the clarity.
And what comes
Makes heart
And body
Tremble,
Nearly off
The bone,
And writhe
Nearly out
Of skin.
Did I choose power?
Or did power choose me?
And time and space shatter,
And I survive to have soup,
And brush my teeth
Before bed.

Mitákuye Oyás'iŋ.
To all my relations.