#4. True Name

I've been seeking places of power in a land who can’t remember her true name

Under concrete and window sills

Doorways and other in-betweens

where the trunks of two meet

burrowing roots into unseen streams

She lives

just barely

just weakly

a too slowly, too softly

heartbeat

fading quick

dissipating as I try to listen

And beneath Her dying things

lies a boneyard

Do you know the feel of land that has seen bloodshed?

Holy or unholy and

you feel them both

Sacred and the gross darkness

overlapping

Some land redeems its power

through fresh lives birthed on it, lived with it

This land is not that.

These trees are not that.

These rocks are mostly silent

and full of hard grief

And yet

I can taste it

the thinly woven thread

still there beneath the longing

in the faintest wisp and whisper

wildandfreewildandfreewildandfree

my heart picks up the rhythm

wildandfreewildandfreewildandfree

and it is there I find what I seek

life will return if I cultivate it

I speak to this dry, dead, bloody boneyard

Within and without

calling

remember

our hearts restart with courage

our bones reknit with peace

our flesh resewn with grace

our place, our blood,

our true name

rewritten with power

She and I,

both self reclaimed,

remember