Here's a poem sketched during shadow work, wanted to share. Leave a comment with your takeaway.
Your cupboard of beans.
Bitter black burning you awake.
Cornmeal grinds away your guts.
Torn from your roots. Eviscerated.
Plunge under your pouring water.
Icy bright intensity flares your senses.
Sudden shock of your misstep.
Your shoulders unable to shrug any more.
Patch together your quilt.
Mend your busted seams.
Your hands make do with what's on hand.
Your smattering of matter and bones.
You build it alone and afraid.
You can scream the whole time.
Easier to swallow once you chew.
Shadow shrinks at solar noon.
Beaver Moon
