…To Late Winter

Singing into old graves and turning over the bones. Looking for the warm dens of foxes that winter left behind. Who can ignore a wildflower planning her ascent? Why would the soil hold her back as she breaks free from the underworld once more? Is it not time to climb towards the light and become what you are? Bring me sweet songs on the backs of the geese and leave the cold wind behind. Tell me secrets in the language of frogs. Show me the tender parts of myself that I’ve long forgotten. I speak to you, the trees, because I know you will listen. Where have the dragonflies hidden while the storm clouds reigned? Did the maiden walk amongst the barely remembered dreams and broken promises to herself? To the stars? What is the meaning of the space called winter if not to sleep? Bears know this secret and keep it close to their hearts. They come out of the cave, hungry for the sun and the blue sky. Stretch into the spaces that you’ve long forgotten and feel the ache of things that have been buried. Use your voice to howl and your wings to hover on the edge of tomorrow. Show your fangs without remorse or some long held belief that they do not belong to you. Say the words that have been stuck in your throat and stuffed down inside for so long that you can barely remember how to form them. Recall how it is to talk to the moon and whisper secrets to horses. The time has come to be undone.

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