walk to the river

hello, you, weaving your web, strand by strand
geometrically, intently,
methodically.
the little one next to you, watching.
you pull a thread, you walk and circle.
you pull a thread and gather
and begin again.
tomorrow the little one waits in the center of your hard work
and I wonder if this is your way of giving to the next life.
teaching by doing.
and leaving the design for the next generation to catch the mystery.

************

saskawahawinee
laughing and giggling
playful
with light and life
mallards sing by
insects swim around our dancing arms
the sun is in the dance.

I am here
this time
to let go of the stones
in my pockets.
to finally recognize the red thread that has knotted and tied
and tangled
around my throat.
to talk to darkness and call it out to speak.
to accept it, but not endorse it.
to insist upon it's voice; tell me what you think you're accomplishing here.
and to wonder if it doesn't at all belong to me.
to tell stories of skeleton woman, of tangling, of singing.
to tell stories of China, of tea, of double lives, of roaring violence.
to sit by the fire and
listen.
and summon the words.
and utter the unutterable.
to toss shame and guilt and secret into the flames.
to watch the burning
of exoskeletons, like insects or crabs, dissolve.
of soft bodied, unformed I don'tknowwhats, melt and pour through the hot wood, like soup.
to recognize the past of smallness and the selfishness of motive that kept me trapped and sick.
to finally see him as not a friend, at all.
not a nice guy. not a compassionate guy. not loving. not kind.
but mean, cruel and self serving.
to see it would've killed me. to stay.
and to know that I was rescued, in the real way. in the only way that matters.
and that life was given back to me.
all this time later, all those yesterdays thinking I did him wrong.
when all I did was stand up again and start to sing.
all I did was stand up again and start to dance.
all I did was stand up again and start to live.

and that was never going to be ok for him.

he needed me smaller, sicker, less than....
so he could be free and better than, and healthier and so he could feel like an angel
to ward off the darkness of his own soul.

me as big as I am born to be,
was never going to be ok for him.
so he had to kill it.
just like my father.
just like skeleton woman. sedna.
tossed in the sea and
left for ages upon ages.

I rise. I rise. I rise.
and my heart is beat like a drum
and his tears are the salve to my awakening.