daily levitation
She hovers somewhere between silence and song. Who doesn’t love a good bard, one who pauses, who makes a line mean something just by adding that extra beat of nothing before the next ballad begins. She doesn’t want to be the kind of writer who pounds like the sun in the desert on an August day. She doesn’t want to be the kind of storyteller who pulls in crowds because she flaunts her frilly panties or her dirty underwear. She doesn’t want to be the kind of poet who has a resume of degrees and publications that precedes her line breaks.
She hovers somewhere between silence and song. There’s so much more to hear than what she has to say. To listen, outside and within, to rumble and rush, crash and burn, hoot and holler, whimper and scream. To listen, to listen, to listen. Connecting the dots. Phrasing the questions. Dreaming the quandaries. Hosting wild dogs and thieves and liars. Engaging threats and crimes and runaway sadness. Finding the way to say something about what is true in that pile of leaves and stones and broken branches at the bottom of her soul, the potion of her past, its neutralized poisons, the crooked roots, the microbial magic, the tender shoots, the risings, well, it’s complicated.
She hovers somewhere between silence and song. Between stop and begin, between shut the fuck up and tell me more. Her world costs nothing but her attention and belief in its promise that she has everything she needs to stretch. Step. Climb. Burn what needs burning. Drench what needs drenching. Welcome what needs belonging. Harmonize what needs expressing. Trace beauty. Track wisdom. Move with what moves you.
