Charging across fields so familiar
Perspiration collecting and dawning a pearled necklace across my chest
The heaving of my lungs pumps life into me like a tire that’s been deflated for decades
—Stiff and sun tanned
But happy to be moved again.
To go here and there
Leaving nothing but my scent
To run towards the wind
And face its resistance
A formidable opponent, these elements.
Landing at a tree line, freedom behind me
Sustenance before me
I creep into the fences of the fir trees
And happen upon a creek
I pant
I lap
I am relieved
Renewed
Then,
Behind the cavity of my ribcage
Bellow my salted collar
A drum beats
And awakens the senses of my skin
Suddenly my sights are clear
And the trickling river begins to rush
I stand still for a moment
The scent grows
I am flooded
I am driven
I charge again.
My mouth is empty
My canines are embedded in my belly
I eat
I carnage
I bleed
I breathe
This field is so familiar to me.
4/29/24
I hid in my corners, I crawled underground, and I waited in my caves until Monday came around. I shriveled, I died, and I was not ashamed for it. I was waiting for Monday like a bear waits for the Spring. Full bellied and faithful. Death feels safe when you know that a resurrection is on the other side. My resurrection this week was beginning “Women Who Run with the Wolves” by Clarissa Pinkola Estés, Ph.D. It would be weird if I didn’t strike a well of inspiration and write a poem after the first few pages. I adore those who write with the ink of their own hearts. I love the ways the stains change color.
If you’re interested in my book review of Women Who Run with the Wolves you can read it here.
Chloeandclover 