What about me?
Why do all the broken ones find me?
They bring all their pieces, their heavy hearts and shards
And lay them down in scattered piles on my roots.
And from my base, my muladhara,
They howl up my tree-
Loud and low, sad and screeching.
They beg me with words they think I want to hear
to crawl down from my high humbled branches.
They want me to sing them lullabies-
Cradle them and dry their tears.
They are too tired and weak to take off
Their heavy armor and boots.
So I bow and warm my hands in the soil
And I get to work.
I touch their soles and their souls.
Vulnerable at last.
I open my legs and show them the Universe.
My mouth open with pearly half moons
And stars on my tongue.
Shed, spread and purge your seed
On my lower back and chest.
Your hot watery chaos takes the chill away
Only for a second.
Then- as quick as you came,
You throw your helmet on.
No “thank you” -
Only a flat, fast good-bye.
And then youre gone after midnight.
I am alone again- swinging from vine to vine
And I lay my head on a mossy pillow
Chilly in the leaves
And wishing your hands were still around my throat.
You will tell your pack,
your tribe of wild beast brothers
Of the women in the woods,
barefoot and silvery bows who will save you.
And I will still be here,
Writing poems entitled, “What about me?”