Full, distended, smaller bites please
I can’t digest this muddled morass of happenings
Slow down little rabbit, take a breath,
to what’s dear.
I cannot hear the echo of my longings
too much to digest
Tar baby, sleep it off, let dreams fly.
When it’s too much, I want to purge,
but is that not wasteful?
Too much to digest
Swallow it all. Swallow the pride.
Swallow the pain.
Pretty bird, don’t chirp. I’ll swallow you too.
Stuck halfway down, a-flutter, feathers
heavy with swallowed tears.
Churn, baby, churn — let loose your sluggishness
Oh, to purge all this.
It’s too much to digest.
It seeps out my pores, my eyes, fills my insides
with tar, slow, heavy tar.
Tar baby, Burn!
Stoke the fire, so small, so small
Let the smoke of wet flesh burn the
caverns of your soul.
Churning, burning, purging
I can’t see through you,
I can’t feel into you.
Hiding there in my body
Drawing the drapes over my eyes
Shrouding the seat of my power, my vitality.
But I remember sunshine, and white light pulsating,
piercing the darkness, penetrating the void
I remember the halo, the satisfaction
like a distant land, a country visited, perhaps in a dream…
but a dream…
certainly dreams come true.
I once was a tree, a weeping willow,
draping tall and lithe over a puddle
and a plum dropped right through me
Sending ripples along my waters
out to tendrils of my longing..
And birds nestled in my throat
tickling my hair and singing my joy.
I was wholly me,
yet not of my body.
The memory – too much to digest
Turn it off, tone it down, forget.
I can’t reconcile where I was to where I am.
I can’t digest the losses I have endured
And it is mine to bare.
Burrow down, rabbit. Sleep it off.
Let the night slumbers
Shroud your sorrow.
*Day 1 of “Writing Back to the Body” with Kate Gray and Sarah Byrden in Hood River, OR