They frame me in the milestones. Something like an unkempt garden. I am half naked in blizzards of truth. Temperamental hands unclothe me...

 

Uprooted.

 

Because you love me whispers from adversaries blow at our threads. The nature of their beasts forget the importance of their Mothers...Of women. Umbilical iridescence floats away. Kites like thoughts lose strings...

 

I promise to uplift you, without your soul leaving body.

 

Understand through me this array of vivid color. Forgotten spectrums leave me dissipated. Respect for roots evaporates...

 

Remember, I will nourish your “inner children”.

 

I awake with the wisdom birthed by elders of intangibility. Certain things I know without knowing.

Yet, the earth of men spits me out. I am tired of searching for my birth, because I understood death.

The sacred split in the soil disputes my flesh. Yet, the skies above never disregard the sacred door revolving between my thighs...Open my lights...Hearth that makes milk and honey, residing nowhere in sound.

Ache of waves summoning me…

 

I’ll wait for you.

I hope you know that.

Do you feel me?

 

My keeper of things toiled. Hawthorne of root and weed. This is my heart. Tend to untangle the misconception of my disgrace...Make my home...

Make my home.

Soul of metal alliances from blood...

 

This is man.

I found one who is my key.

 

My protective sword from our hearth...Fire fuera... I believe in his oaths. He too, knows of subliminal ruin…

Meld the unwind and collapse. Wield the dark until something shines…

 

Interrogate my shadows until my soul utters your name.

 

Let me into my humanity. Disregard the disillusioned bicephalic deity. The one who never speaks of torment. The one torn beneath her dresses…

 

Like you, I suffer.

Deep down under anchors you understand.

 

They frame your woman in the milestones.

Tend to these hurdles; something like a garden.

My keeper of things toiled...

My key.

We should find our home.

 

© Mimi Caneda Mata