Becoming ii: the first light of day.
Waiting for an Odyssey
I remember the first sign of spring
stealing the winter away
then those first days of summer
encompassing the spring
now the autumn has come
and I understand that the winter is soon to follow
I remember the first sign of spring
stealing the winter away
first light of dawn
one morning the spring light
wiping out the winters name
and there was so much ahead of me
there I held onto the earthy hand of spring
and let it lead me
I remember the spring never really feeling like home
a lover I knew that would never keep my palm warm forever
thinking perhaps the summer would hold me differently
and I remember the spring never really feeling like home
but telling me there was so much ahead of me
in that first light of day
stealing the light away
I thought of my grandmother who held
me in her prayers long before meeting me
and for a moment I was not anything but a hope whispered
lost in the air
that first light of day
in that first light of day
a breeze reaches me
that carries my words from the autumn before
a postcard of my nostalgia
and they crash into me
a wave to the shore
an erotic embrace
and they’re telling me of the colour of the
sky this time last year and they’re telling me
they’re telling me like I could have ever forgotten
that the sky from last year is still this sky in front of me
and for a moment I was not anything but a hope whispered
is this where a craving started
a craving to be needed
I will never have my own name
if I never marry it will be my fathers
and if i keep my mothers it will be her fathers before
in the first light of day
the autumn is silent
I’ve seen it many times before
drifting to shore
a wave covering the horizon
the autumn is silent
and I bend to pick a flower as the ground shifts itself beneath me
and I find beauty in everything
I remember the passion of spring
the heat of the smokey summer
a spring once before
creating a tomb for a fig seed
discovered between my teeth
unsure of how long it would take to grow
my first child
but watching each morning light
to see if a fresh sprout had emerged its way
from the moon soaked soil
I remember the passion of spring
once before
digging up the earth with my fingertips
trying to find the sarcophagi I once buried.
Beatrice.
cover image from pinterest