Prelude

“Woe unto me, unto what am I likened? I am not likened unto the fowls of the heaven, for even the fowls of the heaven are fruitful before thee, O Lord. Woe unto me, unto what am I likened? I am not likened unto the beasts of the earth, for even the beasts of the earth are fruitful before thee, O Lord. Woe unto me, unto what am I likened? I am not likened unto these waters, for even these waters are fruitful before thee, O Lord.” Protoevangelium of St. James C.E 125

An offering

i walked for seven days in silent darkness. along my path. On the seventh day, the sky was white as smoke, and i stopped to rest by a pool nestled in a cliffside, in a grotto, where light and shadow twisted over the rock walls. i fell asleep and dreamt of the sweetness of the earth

The soil- the sower of 5,000 seeds

bent over, glued to the soil, their hands, feet, and minds filled with the swallowing earth. All of their hopes were placed in it, over generations they and it had become one. In time of drought they grew sickly black from thirst along with it. When the first autumn rains began to rage, their bones creaked and swelled like reeds. And when they ploughed deep furrows into its womb with the share, in their breasts and thighs they re-experienced the first night they slept with their wives.

Destruction-betrayal

but the images morphed: the bee was a locust, both the rabbit and the horse were slain, and their hands pooled with blood that crystallized into dark jewels under fingernails. frightened by what they saw, they covered their eyes with their hands, and when they opened them again, they awoke. 

What Mothers Carry

the world glared in dizzy forms of light. what they saw was too bright for them. wilting lilies grew by the water, perfuming the air with rot, their petals floating like waxen wings upon the waves. I used to watch her coming and going, opening the wardrobes and coffers, uncovering the jugs, stooping to look under the beds, I trembled.

Burial in a strange and angry earth

the earth itself opened around them into a cistern, and enclosed them again in darkness. here they waited… 

Lullaby- the stars whisper your name

who dug me out? myself or someone else? or the earth itself shot me out like a shrub, a tree. praise the stars, the jasmine that blooms in the night, praise the blue hours of respite. If one cannot dance, they cannot pray. Angels have mouths but lack the power of speech. They speak to God by dancing.