viability.
2006-04-04 12:40 p.m.
If i try my hands, i will find myselfstopping in fear of the simplicity, the intricate nature of being, the callouses and tendons that have come to grow a garden, that have come to blister in between my fingers in long sounding nature -
some significance that sprouted in our stomachs, that grew us into mothers over winter, and released us, four months later, into machines
promising better futures, swearing
we'd have it made if we'd only give a little, half of ourselves to cups overflowing, to protestors and doctors, to stirrups and saddles, to prayers and strong convictions.
Give purpose, when the time comes bearing up in season, bearing up its throat in rumors, in telling lost stories of the women that i have been, when the polarizing accompanyment carried
says, "you do what you have to do."
says, "there's nothing selfish to this."