nightingale

i am floating on the back of motherhood, waving like a reed underwater in these undulating currents. i chart the moon into darkness, falling upon the valleys of transit with exhaustion and a collaborative ecstasy. inquisitions move through me by the thousands. huge ships filled with endless party-goers they pass, chanting riots in the phantom sun; could it be that after her voice walked into our morning grey, i will be filled with the fast beating of heart any time i hear her sing again? what does this have to do with me /you? my mind wanders into making new combinations of letters into meaning.

i find myself braiding, each thin strand mesmerizes as it lifts, catching the light before falling into the thickening sheen. i think i'm preparing for a quiet ceremony. while i have learned the quantum benefits of letting loose in the garden of appreciating, i stand close enough to the acrid smell of tragedy that it gathers like smoke behind my tongue. we talk about death and the peace of beginning to feel again bleeds across my big screen.

the lights of the car behind me signal to pull over and make friends with the law, i decide to just be the sleepy regular human that i am feeling. this decision leads me to a river of authenticity. i skinny dip with a smile.

i drink jasmine tea well beyond midnight, folding deeper into this most intimate sanctuary. my fingers cool quickly as blood slows into sleep. will i dream again in shadow boxes? maybe.

nmw