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November 3rd Poems

Day 3 
the taste of birds in flight
indigo and sinew
body and stone
  that hold fleeting glimpses
into the
stirring all that wisdom
      of all their ancestors
they don’t need a map to know where they are going
for their ancestors weaved instructions within the marrows of their bones
My ancestors hand’s
 have become a talisman to guide me
A pillar to guide me through the waves of today’s resistance
Showing me both, how to show up and how to rest
That feeling of strength they afford me
It is more than hands can hold
on any given day
despite a bit of resistance
from this dying inorganic system
Modern day illusions are not enough to persuade me
negate me
sway me
take. me
– anymore
despite their wails of storm gusts
their desperate hope to turn our grief into salt
they can not have me
Nor can they have these tears turning solid
for my ancestors hands worked hard
to get me prepared
for this very moment
How many fires they kept through the night
how many seeds they collected every fall trusting that the soil would thaw to plant again
How many moments they thought ‘this is the end’
Their love is woven into the creases of my own hands
so that I may cast the seeds of this moment
coated in my own resilience
for the next generations
that which isn’t sowed
the birds will come with knowing
for they too are my ancestors

Laura Torraco