fertile ground

fertile ground
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i am so very tired.
i drag the shadows behind me,
a midnight blanket full of bramble,
weed, bug, flower buds and finite
blades of grass.
this i pull over the swatch of my head,
and wait for nothing. the ladybug
tilts his wings against my fingertip.
he takes off so clumsily.

you may interpret,
in fact, i am certain you will.
again and again.
the tides beat against my bone
weary arms, rattling the cages
i have built, the beautiful jutting
angles of elbow and wrist and
that red marrow bank of hip.
food repels me in this hibernation.
there is water full and bright,
a slinky moon in my mouth.

the phone strikes anvil again
and again, the birds react in
great leaps across the sky.
i will not move, i do not answer.
you may not bargain with me.
i am asleep alone.

i lay in the hand shaped shadow
beneath the awning, sharp.
swooning in blues, swamp blacks,
dirt and dusk piled toward
my cheekbones in careless stacks.
you tell who you like: 'she hides'.
still we know i am the seedling,
there are buds erupting on my face
like small pustules-
the ground tills underneath my fingertips,
my toes.

you may interpret.
i am sure you will.
my silence becomes your cry,
your movement highlights this sleep.
still we know i am the seedling,
and there are many promises to myself
that i have yet to keep.

maggie may ethridge
i wrote this a while back and the last post i wrote reminded me of it. i have promises to keep not only to my precious children but the precious and lost child i once was. these are the ways we heal. love, maggie