This week, I’m channeling Mother Earth. I wrote this poem craving groundedness, and ended up uncovering a wild, living spirit. Poetry uses the masculine tool of words to carve out the mystery of feminine space. From the security of structure, we can venture into the unknown and summon the muse.

I have a floor.

There are boards underneath me.

Wood. Cut from the tree.

Grass in crisp, fresh sheets.

Naked dirt streaks 

through my hair.

Rolling ‘round wild.

Spinning my spine’s spiral cage.

I stretch toward the sky

Legs unfolding in waves.

Ankles steer the flow

Guiding my leafy green toes

I press into the Earth 

with all my rebel weight.

And She 

presses back.