A day comes in a woman’s life
when she knows what she knows and
makes no apology for what she doesn’t know.
She comes out of hiding, opens
the door on her love affair with mystery.
She cares not one whit if her Muse is absent a body,
save for a blazing of holy light, that
trickster-faery inside her soul
whose cells safe-keep the wild wisdom
of a hundred centuries, forward and back.
This woman stands sturdy inside her own skin.
Feeding the dying shadows around her, like hungry birds,
with morsels of encouragement
and unstoppable peace.
She sits in Circle with the different ones,
allowing their voices to disassemble her world.
stitching new scaffolding with shark teeth
and angel wings for an earth reborn.
She invokes the prayer of a thousand tongues,
healing into the bones of her ancestors who,
muzzled and broken,
were laid to rest without wonderment.
She communes with their scarred hearts
through her own tears of primordial angst,
silently mending in these modern times.
Lissome as the wind, she chants
rhythms and rhymes for the passions
that will not be heard in any other way.
She dares to be a fool for Love.
Letting it have its way with her,
as it will,
and as it must
with all of us.