For the wild women who’ve met themselves.
From the depths of your fertile, earthy souls, to the strength, grit and light, within. This is for you on days when heartache and fatigue teasingly try to put down roots in your chest.
I feel black,
in my own fatigue.
My large spirit doesn’t fit
in today’s mouse-like heart.
With an aching bod,
my chest is tight.
My throat is dry.
I pull myself together and swallow my pride.
I lift myself into new levels of responsibility;
while humbling and reinforcing my heart’s fantasy.
This is my tempering.
My spirit is full, like a sail;
Pregnant with a steady wind.
The emotions that tumble within
almost evoke silence from the din.
Like you, I know—
anything that flits across this timeless space
—Is not me.
Not the thoughts, feelings, plans or dreams.
It hums, steadily, on my heart strings:
I bear witness to your certainty.
I see your shining light, my dear.
So bright, sometimes, perhaps it’s hard for you to see:
You have left behind your destitution.
Grown, so well, into your own skin.
Rising, gentle, bold and strong, within.
There will be days like these.
When emptiness and heart ache come in waves.
Calling from the belly of your underworld.
Twisting and rising in smoky curls.
Cast in shadows; pewter, gold and white.
Under dressed and bruised,
in the dappled half-light.
A streak of crimson blood from your lips.
Feel that dreadful beauty within.
A wilderness that sends creeping ivy,
filled with butterflies and snails;
Around your unseen inner walls.
Sealing lacerations of the night,
without a silver scar in sight.
Tomorrow, you’ll embark on foreign shores.
Listen to the lapping of the waves,
The rhythm of the oars.
Everything is within you.
Everything you need.
Make your heart strong;
yet flexible as the reeds.
Author: Catherine Simmons
Image: Michelle Hébert/flickr
Editor: Renee Picard