(un)curated reflections
day 12 of my menstrual cycle, continuing 'a poem a day' project
I meant to send this out last week, with up to 9 poems, but life had other things for me to take care of. And so today, not to bombard you with a long list of poems, I will share here 16 to 24 April poems. And I will write another post soon to share the rest until 30 April.
I have so enjoyed this process - of sitting down daily and writing something out of thin air! And to get familiar to the spaces from where these words are being born. And I am very touched by your encouragement. Of course, some lines are better than others, but I am allowing myself to play. Something in me is stirring and I might continue this process in May.
On another note that is making my heart burst, my mother asked for a translation of these poems. So I went into my bleed with this beautiful project - to speak to my mother from my womb and heart as she might have never heard me before. So that her own voice is freer and louder.
*MCD - menstrual cycle day
16 April poem MCD 26
How do I honor this time in the temple?
Go deep into the womb and meet the wise old woman.
She will welcome the innocent and the wild and the peaceful warrior.
‘Take down your armor’ she will say
‘Stand still’ she will say
‘Go into the forest’ she will say
‘We need rest and we need dreaming,
and we need song’.
Who will take care of life outside the temple, we ask?
‘He will’ she says
And I lie my tired head on the moss
and welcome her embrace.
17 April poem MCD 27
What safety can feel like:
A skinny dip in the waterfall all by myself on a hot summer afternoon.
Soaking in a warm bathtub for way longer than planned,
one hand on the heart and another on the inner thigh.
Coming back to a body that no longer feels blocked or trapped,
a body that is now free and safe and juicy.
Speaking sacred words
and have them be received with honesty
as I recalibrate and my body remembers how to unravel safely.
18 April poem MCD 1
I have lived through all.
Through disease and destruction and loss.
My heart has been broken over and over again.
And I chose to come back
time and time again.
To laugh and live and carry babies
and walk with others through their pain
Because it is mine
Because it is all the same.
And the blood and tears make up the soil we stand on
from which we rise
like innocent flowers
to touch the sun again,
to make love to butterflies
and bring a smile on Her face
Her wrinkled face.
And to hold her tired, aching hands.
I have come to live it all again
Because this is love.
To live is to love
fiercely that which we are making and unmaking.
And oh what joy when we meet another
who has seen it all
lived and loved it all
And still stands up to celebrate and rejoice
When honey gets made
And is tasted.
19 April poem MCD 2
Words from a hermit:
I feel a pull - me or the world?
How about both?
I work through the tension with purposeful hands.
When my practice becomes a stick
I break that stick into smaller ones
And hand them to the earth.
What if the practice can be like ash
Spreading everywhere in my life
So that I can both be with myself and with the world.
20 April poem MCD 3
Nature - as if I am a separate part from you
But my body remembers it is not.
We walked today and she reminded me about rebirth
With her flowers in bloom
And her leaves so so green
And the stones soaked in water
Just like my eyes soaked in tears
at remembering it is now safe to come back
To bloom again and feel it all.
Bowing to the sharp teeth of winter
Whispering see you again soon
But for now let me feel your juicy flow again
And unravel in your beauty and your color.
21 April poem MCD 4
Before I spring forward to delight in all I have worked for
Let me stop here.
Let me slow down and place each log with gratitude and slow hands into the winter’s fire.
Let me feel the cold on my skin and open to it once more
to show my gratitude for what it has taught me.
Let me hug a still barren tree
to feel it’s strength when life seemed to be in slumber.
Let me put on my winter boots once more
and thank them for the way they cradled my walks through the storm.
Let me hug myself to sleep once more
to protect that inner fire.
Let me sigh out and see my breath
and thank it for being there
a thread to follow, a moan of slight discontent.
Let me splash the freezing water on my sleepy face
and cringe as it numbs my fingers.
Let me get lost in the fog and feel my way inward
knowing now there is a way through.
Let me cry one more tear for my broken heart
alone, in silence
knowing I am being witnessed by the cold dark winter
as it shape shifts into the cozier, slightly chaotic spring.
Let me be here in stillness
warmed by gratitude
for the multiple deaths I have succumbed to.
22 April poem MCD 5
I placed the watch I never wear on my wrist
Tick tock tick tock
One breath and then another one
Two jaws tight, unclenching
Three weights on my shoulders that I can count
And another three hundred I am unaware of
Four hours of driving ahead of us today
Five things on the to do list before we start
Six friends I want to see more often
Seven years since we left our past lives
that still chase us here somehow
Eight is what I count in my head as I do my morning stretches.
23 April poem MCD 6
Walking under the orange blossom
I let the fragrance overwhelm me.
It has the power to take me elsewhere
while my feet are on the ground.
I hear him say ‘Why bother, I’ll just set it at 7.1’
And I realize he’s talking about aperture and depth of field
as the sun reflecting on the white marble blinds us.
Again I allow the feet to tell me where I am
Here, at this time,
And it is the heart and her timeless wisdom that guides me.
Away from home life seems different
like a new pattern settles.
I allow recalibration to unfold
Remembering that ease is also a state I can be in.
24 April poem MCD 7
I don’t want to love the reflection of you that has been curated for the world,
Though there is love for that too.
What is behind the curated?
That is what I am learning to love in myself too.
So I wonder - do we have the stomach for all these parts?
The world wants us fed on the lighter versions of ourselves
But our bodies are craving the raw.
And so let’s bite into them, slowly,
And let’s make a beautiful mess of it all.
