Giving Voice

Through the wood she travelled the path of ancient wanderers
Laden with bag upon bag
Strapped with warn threads
Lingering shadows brush against her
As though wind and rain
At the bending trail, memories glisten in the starlight
Fleeting pieces of life flittering brevity
Against the darkness and whirling memory wind
Her bones, aching ancient pillars, bemoan the journey
Still they continue, as though words
Written on page, written on soul, written by bone
Keep going, keep going
She is moving in mystery, compelled by the call
Of grandmothers before
Speak the words he bones cry
Tell our story the ancient ones beg
With great effort she opens her mouth
But no words come to her lips or tongue
And glancing from shadow to shadow, she begins to fee small
Until the first tendrils of morning touch the sky
And at the breaking sun, her knees fall to earth
A deep prayer of surrender comes forward
As clear as the morning bird calling calling calling
Despite words not forming, she knows it is time
Across her chest the battered hand reaches and untethers
And as she let goes she whispers
“Will you believe me, if I still can’t believe myself?”

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