Sunday, September 4, 2016

Day 1: Undoing

Okay, y'all.  So, it's time.  For real.  I need to get my butt in gear and write actual words on an actual page.  So there will be 30 days of writing.  

For real.  I'm not even kidding a little bit.  You have my permission to kick me if I am not writing.  

Here is day one.  


Some days I wear my body like broken glass.
Crumbled shatterings create
splintered mosaics inside this frame and I
thank god for the ways gravity
and bones hold my undoing together.

And some days
I wear my body like thunderstorm.
The oppressive weight of cloud hangs over my chest and rips
thunder through me -
there is danger
in the way I wear this rippling creation of a being.
I wear this body heavy the way
carrying a river is heavy:
it is beautiful
and deep as it silently
erodes its own

And some days --some days
I remember this body is not
a thing to be worn.
Not burden, not bruise,
not load to contend with.
This body is not
pieces glued together forming this
heart-full being of human.
See - a tree does not wear herself differently
because the wind has blown.
Does not shame herself when
lightning scars her skin,
when seasons leave her bare,
when insects bore her leaves  --
she lives her physical body without

Some day,
I will
this body.

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