November 3rd Poems

Day 3 

 

the taste of birds in flight

indigo and sinew

body and stone

migrating

movements

  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

or

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