Bear Woman

she sings in her dreams, and talks out loud in her sleep

she moans from her darkened room

"I'm afraid of bears"
"what if a bear hears my song and it's heart stirs?"

"what if a bear wakes up when I go walking in the fog?"

She can never remember if she should lie down or run

shaking off her covers in the gap between swallow and sparrow

she steps out onto the ground made invisible beneath swirling mists

each step seems warmer to her feet than the last

she begins to lope, following the spiral scent of conjure and anticipation

while stars fade into careening morse-code lines across the changing sky

messages from afar sent by dancing feet and an honor song

her course winding tighter and tighter circling ever to the right

she looks back to see paw prints chasing her

until she can run no more.

she lies down on the soft spot right at the center

looks down and tries to remember what hands look like

seeing only twists of fur and keratin daggers

she is no longer afraid

~K.Meaker

your sea cow

the headlines read that manatees are no longer endangered~

their numbers are increasing, maybe because they live longer now~

or perhaps some, such as I, 

have adapted to colder waters~ 

munching sea-grass below~

gently rocking your boats on our shoulders as you drift under glittering night skies and dream of mermaids wearing 

prettier faces and clamshells on their breasts~

we, the sea cows, wear nothing but the admiration of the glinting salt crystals dried in your white whiskers~

our faces are soft and gibbous~

our bodies are swollen with kelp and swallowed hope~

we are smooth and friendly and buoyant~

we will outlive all you captains~

we are the selkies of the west atlantic shores, our coats carried out with the tide~

we know that you don't know, but it is us that you dream about~

not as we are,

but as you would like us to be~

you press on toward the horizon searching for a sighting~

never knowing that we swam right beside you as far as we could~

we are no longer endangered~

some, such as I, adapted to the coldness of staying behind~

we are holding the shore while you drift in fantasy~

we are holding the memory of your beards on our hide, long after you captains are lost beyond the vanishing point.

online dating

this september moon has shown me

a thousand pairs of hands holding open their chests.
a thousand faces held for a moment in my hands.

me loving each one.

I have seen as many eyes hidden, closed, and half-shut.
eyes softened by prayers for shared breath.

eyes open and awake searching for someone to witness their own death.

mouths pulled down by the gravity of disappointment.

mouths stretched wide, held in the parentheses of joy.

faces revealing such beauty in the pain. 

                                              in the longing. 

                                              in the bravery of following the moon home.

a thousand faces tired from examining back-lit souls 

for clues about imagined futures and re-imagined pasts.

now ~ is only a question.

now~ is the only question.

crystal-ball forensics and litmus tests of typed words inviting redemption and a pair of cool hands.

me loving one face in a thousand who will join with me to witness 
these changing moons

on the ever shorter path home 

into the flames of the nearest star.

My Exodus

Painting

The Night's Long Journey 
©Cristie Henry

Soon I'll leave this farm and this barn where I sip my coffee each day,

amid molted feathers and soiled straw

and the opinions of determined crows when they fly over~

The sun's shadow or a blurred feathered streak 
will show me where to lay down my next nest that I'll make it from bursting cattail heads~

ochre strands of brittle grass~
tawney bits of fur found hanging from unmended fences~
collected offerings from the bodies of moose and stag and bear who 

rubbed their regards against 
moss-covered boulders~

from sea-urchins, shark-eyes, and silver-dollars~

I'll lay down a path of stones leading to my door, all rounded and smooth,

to be easy on his feet when he brings me his songs, his stories, and his weather~

What forest, which shore, what dry and thirsty desert or grotto of tangled vines might pull me in and pull out of me 

what I didn't know that I needed to give~

It could be a three day journey, a three hour drive, or just a three mile walk~

I'll need directions and destinations~

I'll need maps, landmarks, and omens~

I'll sift through the cooling ashes of the burned-down barn

for artifacts or talismans~ 

Then I'll set out to find this new place of peace and a friendly neighbor~ 

Maybe I'll sit with my coffee again and listen harder to the opinions of those determined crows, and just follow them when they fly over.

access

i want access to your mouth... 
i want to catch and hold for time... 
the first thing that issues forth from that holy hole... 
i am like you... i am you... 
i will make myself into a door for you to walk through... 
the key is your throat, o my speechless one... 
i am the well water surface... each thought rising...
bubbling... breaking...
the smooth reflection of your open mouth... 
i will make myself into a pleasant evening... stretching deep into night... 
eternity is with us always... 
how you've yearned for me... 
how i've waited for you to notice that... 
i have always surrounded you... 
i have always surrounded you... 
eternity is with us always... 
i will make myself into a lantern 
whereby i may see us both clothed in golden inseparable glory... 
i am like you... i am you...
i want access to your mouth...
now
my face bends to yours to suck the stink of loneliness off your tongue... 
i will make myself into a bottle... take me in your hands... and drink... 
eternity is with us always...
*