i find myself
in a field.
for all of us that are scared
for all of us that are lonely
for all of us that don’t know what to do
that can’t get up, not even one more time
for all of us
that are hurting right now.
for all of those poor mothers
and those poor children, motherless.
for all of the fathers
for all those who are struggling
i am with you. to help you bear this burden.
i open my eyes
i find myself
in a field of corn. sacred maiz
all of us that are lonely. blood drips into corn,
pray for us now, holy mother, in the hour of our death…
this ache has not gone away.
a family of deer peeks out
they feast on corn, our mother’s
it is the full buck moon tonight. announcing
the season of the deer’s growth.
i dont know what to do about any of this. the ache tears at my throat, my heart, and most days i feel like i can’t get up, not even one more time. 40 years of this is enough.
and i am a lucky one.
so far. one kid texts me she loves me. the other asks me what’s for dinner.
i am terrified for them. the only thing that calms me
are the whispers of the corn, our sacred mother-
to suffer is to be alive.
share this burden.
the family of deer turn as one
fly into the woods that wrap around the field.
i watch them until they disappear, then turn back to the field
to find the moon, full
on the green stalks
dancing with with fireflies, like twinkly lights.
blood has given birth
to life. our ancestors
we are here.
we will bear this burden
holy mother, pray for us now and in the hour of our deaths-