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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