Palettal Prose: Blanket of Miracles

I stand on a blanket of miracles.                                  skin and spirit,

I drum.

I am strange stuff and dark magic:

broken bones and black feathers,                                I stand on my blanket of

chants, fire, wood and                                                    miracles

so many tears.                                                                   and dance, singing

Tears like drops of moonlight                                       I am

along an evergreen path.                                               the blood of my mothers,

I am soft kisses and slick touch,                                  dangerous knowledge,

heavy and round,                                                              fire and water and 

like my grandmother.                                                     salted bread.

I arch,

reciting fever prayers                                                       I come to this place

to old forest gods,                                                             to remember my beginning.

breathing the rhythm,                                                    I come to this place

and giving birth to the world                                        to honor my end.

Then I curl up

This is no spell.                                                                on my blanket of miracles,

I am deep memories and                                                exhausted,

lies long forgiven.                                                            to dream my daughters

With tongue and teeth,                                                  into being.

~Katharine Saunders, from We’Moon

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