Choice
day 26 of my menstrual cycle, continuing 'a poem a day' project
I keep engaging with this project, even through turbulent times. Maybe especially through turbulent times.
The other weekend there was an open mic here in the are we live. And I stood up and read two of my pieces. In front of people. Kind people sure, the kind of people who have been by our side and cheer us on.
These past weeks of pull and push from spring and winter, I am sitting on and with the emerging creative force and I can’t seem to suppress my voice anymore. For which I am celebrating myself.
So below are the poems from days 8 to 15. I will share another round of poems in a week or so.
Note: by MCD I mean menstrual cycle day
8 April poem MCD 18
This is me at 41
seen through the lens of my beloved.
I never liked myself in pictures
though I’ve always been curious to look at pictures of myself
to see what I might find.
I love myself in all the pictures with our daughter.
Maybe it is because of the way she became my center
inviting me to lose my self-centeredness.
She had a way of bringing out the best in me
She had a way of bringing out the beauty in me.
The crease between my brows -
there are days when it is deeper
and others that I barely notice it.
This is me at 41
on a journey of reconnection to my beloved.
And on this journey
I am reminded of the love our hearts can carry
And of the spark of life our eyes can shine.
And so I count my lines as I count my blessings.
9 April poem MCD 19
Invoking the fire element today.
I have laid out the stones in a circle on the ground.
I picked the good wood and placed it inside the stone circle.
I am offering tobacco, some call it the dry bones of our mother.
And the flame starts burning
at first blue and purple, then a deep orange and red, at times white.
Your smoke stings my eyes.
I kneel by you
palms open
reconnecting, re-membering
to honor you
as you burn steadily within me.
10 April poem MCD 20
Kintsugy* came into my awareness just now
and made me think of all the ways I have been practicing,
consciously or unconsciously,
this art in my life.
To all the mothers who birthed -
aren’t the ways we carry ourselves and our children,
engulfed in golden love,
a practice of this art?
Repairing what tore open in birth
with the highest expressions of love we are capable of?
To all the mothers who lost children -
Aren’t the ways we choose to share or not share our stories
glue mixed in with gold
applied to our broken hearts?
To all humans who allowed ourselves to be cracked open -
Aren’t the ways we tend to our lives
and the great mother who holds us
our awkward attempts
to mix gold dust with glue
and bring back the pieces of ourselves
and those of the great mother
together?
The piece might not be a piece of art
but our attempts at life could be a way of practising this art.
*Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum
11 April poem MCD 21
The moon is getting full
and so is my mind space -
full of thoughts, fears, hopes, dreams and nightmares.
Other than that, today I don’t have much to share.
So I pop another piece of chocolate in my mouth
Push the cat off the desk where I need to work -
she is resting on her favorite spot, enjoying a rainy day in -
and I savor the melting dark sweetness.
12 April poem MCD 22
Is spring my favorite season?
(I might have said the same as we walked into winter)
In spring there is no doubt that spirit is in everything.
The fig tree, seemingly barren in winter made her spirit felt.
But in spring she is showing it to me every day.
Leaves popping everywhere
Celebrating life and her spirit.
Even the rain feels different
Even the cold feels different
Like there is hope
And a promise.
13 April poem MCD 23
Who makes the choices you think YOU are making?
Plant yourself here, now - I say to myself often.
How do we know where we are planted
when the planet is being used as a commodity
and so are our bodies, our minds, even our souls?
How do we know that our roots go so deep into the center of the earth,
our bodies,
that the information they gather along the way
is helping us make our choices?
Is there even a ME making choices
or am I part of a greater web of choices and possibilities
and each breath I take leads to an infinity of scenarios?
In the scenario that is currently unfolding
I hope the main roles go to my cat,
and the fig trees outside
the bumble bees, and the weeds,
and I am a mere secondary character.
14 April poem MCD 24
How to make sacred fire:
Feel the rage accumulated in your body
Find a container that can receive it
and pray that the words and gestures you use
are serving your vision.
Then whisper to the fire:
Don’t burn the innocent heart
the one belonging to the fool who chooses the journey.
This innocence is needed.
And don’t burn the witch.
Must not burn the witch!
Rather, let her harness you.
She is wise enough to do so
because her wisdom comes from you.
So don’t burn the fool, nor the witch
only that which is not true.
15 April poem MCD 25
What happens when two flames meet?
Can they kiss and dance
and build each other up?
Can they fall in love and burn together
into a bigger flame?