Grow

new poem (2nd draft)



Mud woman, stop building shrines
to your past.
what earth have you left for yourself to love
like this, returning to your mother's home
of curses and witchery,
slick tongue of fire and regrets.

You are a drop of miracle.

If you had a father
God would have been jealous.

when the air is wet and sticky,
take time to please
yourself
in your own smell
of funk and armpit.

elbow and
ankle your way
through

Set another woman free.

She is bathing in the lotus of you
blossoming in the breath of you
gasping in the quench of you
bending in the arch of your back.

in case the shame of you comes
like a stranger,
knocks on your door looking for an invitation
shake her hand
hug her like
a long lost friend.

they will call you an aggressive lover
a strangling dancer
show them the maps of your wrists
the railroad to your heart
how you nicknamed your feet
never beautiful enough.
be a streetwise hustler with your voice,
a common sense bookworm woman
and please,
in case
never hold on
when standing at the edge of fire escapes.
there are a garden of birds waiting for you in the sky
some call them angels
others call them gods

Remember to escape your body
every chance you get.
spend time with the moon,
point your finger to the sun
with your hand on your hip
like the attitude of winter.

always swallow the stars
let the river of them rest their faces
in the dark of you
where you protect tigers and lions
fairies and dragonflies

mud woman,
you are never bitter
no, you are not an aimless black satin bullet
simply call it experience
call it wit


c.aja-monet