The morning air whispers strongly of Autumn in my lungs. The Great impending Fall of all we no longer need. The return of moisture for the gift of breathing deeply, to smell the aromas of culminating soil and seeds, preparing for a grand sleep. The scents of raindrops caressing petals of plants who surrender their … Continue reading Autumn Whispers
To be kin with the trees is to let their roots become your veins. Their branches, your limbs. Their leaves, your lungs. Their waters, your blood. The jungle air is moist on your skin, and you drink it in, every pore enlivened and awake, informed by all that lives. The sun is a gift your … Continue reading Tree Affinity
The treasure of water in the air and in the green. The gift unseen but felt in a breath when the lungs open fully to receive it, or upon thirsty skin awaiting reprieve from heat. The plush forest rejoices when fire comes but does not catch, for moist plants are living instead of becoming kindling. … Continue reading Keepers of the Garden
The fires drove us away when they raged and caged my breath. My family’s home in my lungs with buildings and machines, blood and bones, a million dead dreams and more. We could not have known what was in store for the forests of the world any more than the sea knew she'd be swallowing … Continue reading The Call of Fire
Sometimes I want to be left alone in the morning. Just my moments of peace without texts and DM’s or hearing my phone ring. The chance to find myself with my elixir in hand before the demands flood me. Cause we all know what’s coming. Soon I’ll be running from the cage and jumping through … Continue reading The Hawk of New Dawn
Spoken Word Reading: For the Privilege of Living (raw performance just after writing) The nations in our blood rise up to fight the nations in our lungs. A war over our bones: to live or to die. Will we ever see eye to eye? Some of us deny accounts from those on the front lines. … Continue reading For the Privilege of Living: A Pandemic Poem
How many times
do I have to die
to be reborn?
How many times
must I dissolve?
Sometimes I see forever before knowing if I can make it. Sometimes life falls apart like clumps of dirt held tightly in my hands. Will I be scattered on the wind this time, like the spokes of a wishflower? The force of air and spit from a mouth thrusting me into the unknown? Or will … Continue reading Molting
The little deaths Winter brings; To ride them out 'til it's warm again, this is the task. The water is raging under this house on stilts. The rain is chipping away at all the vulnerable and thirsty things. Am I safe inside this box, kept warm by power that isn’t mine? Am I really secure … Continue reading Winter’s Little Death
I. My body is a microcosm of the earth, raging against invasion, depletion, destruction. Scars are blocking my guts, like damming up the Amazon River when 70% of our medicines come from the jungle it feeds. Some things just need to flow or the world suffers. Tribes have survived deep inside the forest, keeping the … Continue reading Life Giver (Pacha Mamma Gives Birth)