Survival

Find any key to the sacred door.

One spreads
paste of poppy seed, diced date, slivered almond
into pillows of cardamom dough.

One mouths
verses of dormant languages,
birthing shut away pages to light.

One baptizes
fecund hand crevices,
mulches past and present,
turning forth seed.

One saturates
canvas in goldenrod, sapphire,
lichen, and clay.

One feels
histories in hand-dyed loops.
Sheep and alpaca, nubbins and plush.
Lanolin comfort molds to the touch.

One dances
emotions in motions,
twirls, leaps and bends.

One listens
with patient presence of trees
to celebrations of salmonberry,
oceanspray, huckleberry, salal.

One sings
Stardust melodies in chorus,
Strings, horns and drums.

One burdens us daily
with fear everywhere.

Welcome your sacred and breathe the good air.

 

 

(Awkward poem in progress – want to work on rhythm and meter but posting anyway because the brain dumps disappear quickly).

On May 22, I am looking forward to a new volume of poetry that will be released about life in America now.

About Erin W

A sensitive plant, bamboo strong.
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