i want to dig my teeth into the woody bark of each tree
to taste the deadness and the life bound together in one bite
i sit for a moment and the sky cracks open to greet me
like a wondrous eye unblinking
in a moment of warmth i am seen by the light that sees all
i am drinking the sparkling gentleness of each breath of wind on the rippling surface
i am eating the light in the branches through a feeding tube depositing faith directly into my core
the leaves are dead and i am dead
the tree is alive and i am alive
the air is cold and the sunlight is piercing glowy strong and filtered soft
the dirt beneath me is the same dirt i crawled on as an infant
and marveled at as it joined with rain birthing luscious goopy mud
the sense memory is in my toes and i can almost taste the bitter salty earthy
bite of it on my tongue
there is a blooming inside my chest fed by the homeness of it all
i feel i have been bred and born of this jagged, freezing, endless cresting, dirt covered cradling net teeming with life.
i am home and i know it
what if this place were to sink?
it will sink
what if this place were to burn?
it will burn
(it has burnt)
what if we are forced to abandon,
sever the fishing line tied to root planted and grown over?
i hear the calling of souls disconnected from their place
the voice of my fathers fathers father who's line was shot with an unfired gun and a credible threat
the gasping guttural moan of the ones who's bones make up this dirt I cherish
the holes splintered in this net render it useless
it was tied with such care
knotted and spun
crafted to hold us
the weight of our bodies pulling the fiber taught, making it strong
i will re learn my knots
i will tie my family's thread to yours
i will melt the paracord with the burning in my heart
i will mend
i will darn
i will feel the dirt between my toes and bless the memory of your bones with each step.
Calling on my ancestors
Avot v’ imahot
Sarah, Rivka, Leah, Rachel
Mothers of all the mothers
Your life blood flows in the ruby yarn
Teach me, hold my hands in yours
Guide the fibers through my fingers
Let us marvel at the strength of the line
Do not fear the needle,
Even let it prick the softness
Even let it draw a pearl of ink blood,
Even let it stain your work, your sheets,
Let it be a reminder
Every stain a mezuzah
Marker of the holy,
You have been here.
In your name I tie myself to every branch,
Lichened and brittle,
Every stone scarred with the veins of its history,
Heavy in the net.
I know because you have taught me;
When stitched right, when
Fitted to your frame, when the fibers are crossed,
Anything can be carried.
Let me weave a basket for you.
Line it with something soft, fleece or
A small quilt.
Fill it with the fragile things:
I will bless it and your journey.
Do not forget to sit before you go,
Rest long enough for the spirits to catch up.
If the basket it too small, if you must
Carry heavy things, I will weave you a sack.
It will cling to your hips like a child.
As you fill it
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