I’ll let the sun kiss me
until I’m more freckle than not,
until you decide to let me stay the night,
until I realise you’re not worth my waiting.
And at this point,
I’m not sure which parts of me are tanned and which are dust,
which parts are stained with salt from sweat and which from sea,
which are flames and which are the distant drumming in my soul of every woman who come before me.
And today I reclaimed the wilderness within my soul,
with my mother’s namesake,
as an unknown fury swirled inside me.
And I dreamt of a wild-haired woman,
with a wild heart to match,
to come with me,
on whatever this is.
And fully prepared to submit to the healing of Tibetan bowls,
I was called to somewhere new,
somewhere I hadn’t been,
and didn’t understand why I was drawn,
until,
of course,
I saw you.
And I think there’s a reason why
as children
we’re drawn to birthday parties with fairy wings,
why we all tend to collect secret talismans and store them in glittered boxes,
why random patches of wild mushrooms are never random,
they’re fairy circles,
of course.
I think there’s a reason why we find old books full of gnome lore,
and flower meanings,
and creature care,
not yet knowing what the word familiar means.
This witches’ blood
has coursed through our veins
for millenia,
and yet.
Without the language to explain it,
we return old books to their shelves, and
thoughts of magic to full moons and witching hours,
until the inkling tugging the strings of our hearts,
brings us here.
And my grandmother soul,
and my tiny child self
danced with fire, and wind, and
smiles that can’t hide our cheek.
We are the storm.