oh, dream catcher
let my dreams come through
and catch the fires that burn within
so that in the morning sun
I may reflect upon the ashes
and watch the green sprigs grow
it is not a new story, but one told through this voice, this time. . . the voice that strives to hear itself in truest form. . . it is an exercise in muscle, a peeling and a prying away, a pushing through and a purpose of being.
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What Woman
What Woman sits crosslegged
in a dress while slouching at the dinner table
eating honey by the spoon
What Woman blows raspberries
and makes faces at imaginary friends
in the park all afternoon
What Woman speeds up for her own delight
and stops time when she wants to
just because she can
What Woman keeps music playing
and doesn't just spasm
but twirls and...
What Woman gets lost in a dusky field
and follows the fireflies home—
(she knows exactly where she is.)
What Woman knows a secret—and knows that she knows
who bites her cheeks in church
and bustles and tickles and squirms
What Woman keeps Spring on her lips
even in the death of Winter
when hibernation boasts of no return
What Woman can break and heal a heart with just a glance,
reminding you of everything you've ever loved
and lost
in a dress while slouching at the dinner table
eating honey by the spoon
What Woman blows raspberries
and makes faces at imaginary friends
in the park all afternoon
What Woman speeds up for her own delight
and stops time when she wants to
just because she can
What Woman keeps music playing
and doesn't just spasm
but twirls and...
What Woman gets lost in a dusky field
and follows the fireflies home—
(she knows exactly where she is.)
What Woman knows a secret—and knows that she knows
who bites her cheeks in church
and bustles and tickles and squirms
What Woman keeps Spring on her lips
even in the death of Winter
when hibernation boasts of no return
What Woman can break and heal a heart with just a glance,
reminding you of everything you've ever loved
and lost
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