I don’t hurt today,
and I can hear
the voice of my mother say,
“There more than one more
turn of the rock
today.”
There is always wisdom
that we can’t explain.
Either we get it,
or we don’t,
that’s just the way it’s stayed.
At the end
of this
and every day,
these words come in
on the wind
and take me away,
like a lullaby.
I grew
with the strong bones
of the Earth.
I made shelter,
and fire,
and forage.
I walked,
one with the forest,
before I saw the city lights.
I drank,
all the bitter words
that they fed to me,
with hearts scarred aplenty.
I took them at their word,
and bade the day a snake;
and the day became my enemy.
Dropping out,
and never fitting in.
I felt time’s lines
creep across my skin.
Calling my name,
sharp as a razor blade.
I’ve lain in many beds
that I haven’t made,
but when I die,
I know I’ll hear her voice again.
Pure as a mountain spring,
like something sanctified.
Before I dream,
I’d like to hear it one more time;
singing like a lullaby.
HG – 2019