a wild hymn
Their footprints gather around the stone.
The ancient birthburial ground.
The place hidden among the lindens.
It’s as if I can see them here, women in the woodland;
knelt in prayer, anointed, weaving, drumming
through the centuries.
Maybe I’ve been here before.
Maybe this is from some other time,
some other body.
Maybe here I made my plea
to the woman in the linden tree
And she answered.
She sent out silken soldiers, retrieved my wishes,
and has returned for me
lifetimes later, to my new body and says
I’m back in time, surrounded
by ancient women and from their goddess’s forest
uprose a wild hymn.
It thrills through me, opens up my bones like husks
and I’m with her.
Branches grow from my shoulders, adorned
with emerald leaves, bright berries.
My skin is bark.
My face, smoothed wood.
Ancestors. Only as strong as their memories known.
I stand in their long-eroded footprints around the stone.