dark blood

Some days the story gets stuck.
You pull it, move it, tap it out of you
a lack of flow and you’re certain that the sea would dig it out of you
but the sea is far today.
You bleed dark blood thick as the day you were born.

You remember
all expansion demands contraction; we rise to fall;
light craves her darkness and grief strengthens joy.

As we move through, remember to honour these daily deaths.
We are never done letting go, we shed with continuity.
There’s a reason for this chiselling, the sharpening of you.

On days when your throat seizes and clogs up with stagnancy
no words come through, no tears, no feeling trembles through you.
you fear the closing; the hardening of your shell body
your veins like rusty clogged pipes
you fear becoming a frozen ocean
again
your heart a glacier; you fear the familiarity of this.


Remind yourself
remind yourself of the impermanence. The transient nature,
the passing.
Remind yourself of the earth, how she blooms with fierceness despite all;
your blood is dark sea water, your spine a tree trunk, your skin fertile soil
remind yourself

why you are here
why you are here
why you are here now.