I am part of a cycle of mothers
where neither taught each other
or me what it means to be WOMAN
I am patch-worked into this legacy
of lost identities of lost girls whose
bodies grew old but their inner child
cries in the corner of their hearts

silence - I am called to this vast
wordless expanse of a desert
where the wind gently touches
my heart's face, as a forest
where greens and browns
weave in and out of my soul

some would call it a dance
of awkwardness, that with
time either falls apart
or finds the rhythm
and jives

some would call it a hunt
where one is the hunter
and the other the prey,
though neither sexes
hold particular true
to either roles

some would call it a game
of peek a boo, I see you
but do you really see me?
until the game stops
and peeking into
souls begins

this is what it's like
to walk the path alone
but not quite alone -

it's a road through a
prairie expanse with nothing
but the gorgeous blue horizon
surrounded by goldenness
reflected from the midday sun

And striding along in the distance
in the horizon clouds are the
mighty trunked legs of a Giant
lost somewhere in the atmosphere
and nothing but His slow massive
moving limbs, with His eyes above
the clouds looking down and
a smile from way above

this is what it's like
to walk the path alone
but not quite alone

Brother, I lift up my hands
and pray blessings upon you

for you..

released me, untied
my wings and threw me
out the window, and now
I take to land, sea
and sky

...I bless you for you..

You have blessed me,
and now I go in peace...

You are the catalyst who
tripped the stone that rolled
down the hill of me

I am woman old, and my
wrinkles accumulate as
my crows spread their feet,
slowly as the day turns

but she

still squeals with delight
as when he walks on by,
and she hops scotches
down my internal flagstones
just to stand with him
at the other side and
smile at him with toothy grin

having a metacognitive moment,
I - with rhymed and rhythmed words -
realize as an unattached woman
that my spoken marrowed syllables
have come from the soul of a daughter,
of a sister, but not of a wife or mother...

And I reflect on the pool of my being -
what new thoughts and words will arise
from watery withins when I shift into
these beings - what will arise?

will you be like every man
whose stepped into my life
and left his poetic footprint
as a mosaic memorial
along the path I walk?

or will you stay and walk
with me towards the Vision?