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?”

 

Melissa DeLynn