a field of generational recovery

A four-part poetic journey through ancestral wounds to embodied healing, mapping a path from blood-soaked canyons to wildflower fields and euphoric truth-telling.

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unlearning linear paths

we are at once new and ancient

born in a deep canyon of wounds

wind carrying our ancestors' memory

we grow in red soil

mottled with blood and dried tears

soul death

organs starving of lovelessness 

aching scattered bone fragments

we hold soil in cupped hands and lower our ears to listen

fragments of

loss calcified by longings for shared grief

soulful life lost to cruelty and hate

a need, a chasm of unmet need 

left wanting by those who injure more than heal

an unrealized person

stuck in the burning of constructs

injured neural pathways transform

that gaping, bleeding canyon

into a chasm of harsh truths

not loveable

not seen

not safe

a living cognitive wall constructed

to protect

from

further 

death

we spend nights watering the soil 

with our tears

heartbreak hurling from ravaged throats

there is hurricane between us

look at its power and the way it could

snuf

us 

out

lost to wind and sound and breath and bare teeth

we look

and notice

how it breathes at the pacing of our lungs

It is us and we are in control

heels of hands and bare knees crawling

the spiral paths that map the field of your mind

a sometimes hidden part of you knows

in the valley of this great canyon

relief soon come

thorns tear at your ankles

the hurricane

the uncontrollable

rips the clothes off your back

your shadows stalk you under watching constellations

find shelter behind

your secret longing and dug-deep resentment

hide behind great hulking stones of ego and pride

make room in the space between your ribs for fear

old friend

sometimes quiet

sometimes running sonic paths from your chest to the canyon walls

but maybe

eventually 

the shadows and the fear

the griots they are, speak

they are ours now

there is euphoria and clouds disperse

the morning light

pleasure in flower beds

sex in trees that breathe clit to atmosphere 

fields that grow head high

wildflowers meet honeybees

a river grows queit in the once shadowed places

a sediment of clay and sand

a call from the earth

in our grandmother's voice

garden snakes - a darkness becoming

everything just wants to be seen

when time strengthens your muscles

when you are ready to stand

inhale

the air is purer from our truth telling

and love labors

and reckonings

the ecosystem thriving 

simply because we are here

because we walk weary feet on blood-soaked soil

run

tumble

frolic

roll through the canyons and fields

donned in a straw sunhat

long pants and thick socks protect you from snakebites

and a vessel of water

rests at your hip