59. open mic

On Wednesdays I have school - two classes, six hours, and this is at least the third or fourth week I’ve found myself exhausted, trying to write at midnight, and today brought an epiphany. 

So I’m happy to share a new ritual: open mic night at the Antisocia. 

On these nights that I have nothing left to give, I will give to myself by sharing a piece of poetry from Past Selves. As I’ve been looking back through my writing from days of yore, I’ve fallen in love all over again with the heart of who I was then. 

So, in the spirit of exhaustion and brevity, here is a piece first written in 2018, but which also feels fresh and alive today, in a new way. 

I also have a request for you, because your responses and loving connection have kept me afloat through this project so far, and I could use some buoyancy now.

If you feel moved, will you send me a poem you wrote, or one that you love?

If it flows, I’d love to create a little open mic night, a mini-anthology of poetry or short prose each Wednesday by sharing what is alive not just for me, but for us. 

***

I AM

You are my exhale

and surrender.

Every impulse of spirit is for you.

You are crimson, 

wine and nectar;

I am constantly falling snow.

You are mindful doubt,

willful desire;

the flow of my river runs toward you.

I drift on your tides

sway in your current

Upon your ocean I float.

You burn me

I touched you

and the sun.

Like the moon, I hide my face. 

By morning, I bask in mercy -

At night,  in grace, I bathe.

You rain,

the parched earth 

cracks and opens -

You roar,

the mountains groan.

Wind on my face 

chill on my skin

I tremble in the rage of your storm.

I am drawn to my knees 

by your gravity,

in your wild unknown,

I dance.

You are the stranger

and the Queen -

I am reluctant to wear the crown.

Clothed in the gold of poppies,

I lean into your rest.

You are the water which fills my cup

and the whisper 

speaking my name.