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