Drought, by NewSong

I wrote this halfway through the summer, I share it now that the
drought has ended. Water has been blessing the earth once again, the
fire near our house that burned for months is finally out, the river
is flowing with enthusiasm once again. And I have moved out of that
unknowing vulnerable place where I spent this summer, not knowing if I
would receive that yang blessing from the sky, afraid I was scorching
my land with the asking of my journey.

It is a time of drought-
the river and lake are low,
the winds are high,
I walk where water once licked, kissed, covered.

“But beauty…” you pleaded
as if it were my obligatory gift to the world
so I compromised until I couldn’t.
Under shorn gold ornament,
I found someone I recognized.

Deep underwater
I find a plankton that glows
And if we could find out how to convert its energy,
one small piece could power a town.
If you swim near it,
you can breathe the water slowly and live.

“courageous,” he said.
“brave,” she said.
“A necessary choice made
to soothe the weeping of my soul,”
I said.
finally, formally, as they.

my toes grip sliding rocks,
the going is slow, tedious, on the steep bank,
and for a moment,
I identify as a 4-legged,
scrambling hands and feet.

A newfound beauty,
Skin shed for comfort,
Strong and confident,
I step through the threshold.
A confused look,
“tweety bird?”
A stranger to all but me.
I swing between elation and agony,
like the seasons on Mercury.

A swarm of pigeons and seagulls,
take down the plane into a post-apocalyptic world.
I see bodies black from frostbite,
that fill the arroyo where they camped,
fingers clutching each other,
dead because they relied on each other’s bad advice,
So every person for themself,
I isolate myself to survive.

For three days you couldn’t look at me.
The truth spoken and lived,
now you incant loudly,
-a spell to ward off my vulnerability,
that awakens your fear-
speaking of the difficulties of friends,
the scorching sun,

“will it rain?”
the clouds hover,
and I hope for an outpouring
to cleanse and cool the land.

Do clothes make the man?
I had been waiting for this moment,
Fabulous and new,
I stand awkwardly with hands in my pockets.
I had forgotten the loud disconnect of parties.

The eagerness of the willows,
pushing up through sand for air,
tell me this ground has been dry before.
Perhaps the earth will not burn.

More info: Contact newsonghealing (at) gmail (dot) com

They have a blog where they write about spirituality and mindfulness
within their non-binary life at spiritgender.wordpress.com.


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