Monday, January 21, 2008

I thought I cried (and how beets speak)

All morning I observe the sinuous feelings

I chop. Tears flood from my eyes and my face burns.

I cry without crying, for all the grandmothers before me

chopping onions for their family.

For the matrilineal soup

For the children fed with green, red, and orange wisdom

The red slices through with a power so provocative

my soul arrives

It swirls around the little trees and imprints the veins

with what we once knew as nourishment

With rooted laws of nature

tapped into the core

with long dark wings above the ground

her red round belly bulb shoots up undeniable beauty

reaching up towards life

and down towards sustenance

And the liquid swirls. The heat rises like a serpent invoked

like a mad mermaid

like my tears challenged to come by an onion

She talks to me in her layered voice

poking and prodding and asking me

what i want. commanding me to add it to the pot.

I'll cook it up for you and serve it hot, my dear

It's not as scary as you think.

The steam takes my tears

and those red red round roots

dare me to belly up

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