The Joining of Blood and Fire

I can write you in red to celebrate
the season of my birth, your fire
and paint you in rain, your storm
and join you in blood and rage,
grow as I do, I remember
much, some days I remember little
a girl and I wonder in silence
when there is no moon,
there was room for words,
for what you grew in objects, I presume
it was false destiny allowed
to decorate life and create
between idols, memories, erect distance
in me, a lovely sort of vulnerability,
still in here, the story continues
to ask questions until it grows its own purpose,
circles its own seasons and spills its own fresh blood, roots
and whistles ecstasy from the ground, what you knew,
you still know, what you saw, you took hold of again,
and I understand it was no better than
silence and its accessories, but mother
mine, yours, and ours listen, there will be want
of you forever, forgetfulness among animate selves,
my destiny is you, they are here
and they whine amongst the idols
for recognition and they live in screams and laughter,
where should we go together tomorrow, can we draw outside
the lines of fire just this once, it will be unprecedented,
your motherhood and mine
unnecessary company built from what you heard
of roots and loves and echoes in family
the journey begins to flood, to spill familiar blood,
and hide inside of fire, extinguish my womb—
I am you now.

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About Kate Houck

Educator. Human. Poet. Seeking truth through experience.
This entry was posted in motherhood, Uncategorized and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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