in my body
I have a conversation with god
she speaks to me
in the fluidity
of the ocean between my knees
the air blooming under my arms
she spoke to me
when I opened my eyes
asked me
what is your first memory
not of this life
but of your very first
my back was cradled by her ground
earth filling the small space between lumbar and horizon
when I saw the moon between my thumbs
held each planet
between my fingers
watching them dance orbits around each knuckle
Eve's serpentine dream
spoke in love with my spine
encouraged me to stand upright
whispered to me the secrets
of how to feel
again
for the first time
my feet became her lily pads
spread out wide
over the water's surface
toes plunging under water folds
shells parting beneath my feet
and as I took root in the soft sand of the ocean floor
as if in a nightmare
I hit cement at the bottom
cried out from a child's memory
of never feeling safe among gray
my feet are not meant to walk across this
my soles are not made to walk over concrete
my soul is not meant to live within these boundaries
earth dreams halted by man's rock sheets
slabs distorting where to breathe
I can hardly see the sky here
unknowing of when it is time to hunt at dawn
and retreat at dusk
I am slow motion moving on my own clock these days
no hands ticking or seconds
only time moving in clouds rolling
and when the time comes
oh I feel it coming
all at once
I will find the great cracking of my hips
a metamorphosis of my joints
an explosion between my thighs
I will be devoured by the power of my own pelvis
rocking me gently
in the undercurrents of my weighted being
floating effortlessly amongst fallen trees
and soil set on fire
only to be born anew
I bend my knees
and kneel at the altar
of my goddess
she smells of pine trees
after the rain of days
after what is no longer here
is washed away
back into the soil at her base
she reminds me I am a woman of many creatures
I weep before her
bathe my knees in tears
pray at the crumbling cave
of the woman who is older than earth itself
and lives within me all at once
who is breathing the air
from before the big bang
whose tears are still falling
to create oceans
whose bones are still bending
to morph mountains
she sings to the child
who dreams in oracle visions
too hazy to name
but knows what they mean