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