A poem to start the week.
text reads
The Gathering
you are weary
stripped of bark
you have been shedding leaves
resolve is blossom snatched by the wind
sometimes it is too much
to know you have been hacked & pruned
fashioned into furniture
oiled & shaped for utility (or fantasy)
your heart is not inanimate
she is the tree whose roots run
rich with connection
when you are felled the Earth grieves
with the heat of the sun
still, your daughters rise from dirt-packed seeds
each day you teach them to hold ground
celebrate together in light
when the moon is new
she proclaims the song
of the women who stand as a forest.
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