Even here

 

I am falling into the gravity at the center of my heart

having returned to the landscape 

crevices and gullies of old wounds.

Now I occupy

the abandoned shadows.

My shoulders drop

there is new space for air to flow inward

rib basket expanding

belly owning her round space

generating the impulse

for roots to delve more deeply into the earth.

Even here where she weeps

even here in old mining country

where the pain beneath my feet

is so palpable

where earth and women were violated

"las estacadas" left to bleed out

in the name of honor and religion.

Even here where nightly bomb blasts 

rattle windows and nerves

in the belief that they are blasting holes in the sky

through which the Virgen can descend.

The goddess of my heart 

the one who visits me in dreams

flies through the night sky of her own volition

blessing the land and its people 

with sacred water and amber.

So, even here, my feet touching the ground

enter into a conversation

a resonance with the disturbed mantle.

I know I have been called upon 

to drum to chant voice her pain

and do my best to weave gossamer threads

through the rifts, wounds, and scars

below our feet, here.

—Lorena