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Saturday, April 9, 2011


I have learned about the power that lives inside of me by the way the season change, by the way the world changes, and by the way I change. I know that power is a matter of my mind, a matter of my soul, and a matter of my strength. I trust a feeling of peace in my heart because it comes from honoring my womanhood.

Women are like teabags. We don't know our true strength until we are in hot water! Eleanor Roosevelt


Every morning, about this time,
a church resting about a mile from here,
rings their bells. A lawn of
apple trees, heavy with fruit,
bless the manicured grass.
Colliding pregnant clouds
mosaic the rich blue of the sky.

The church structured from
gray rectangular bricks,
planks of hard wood,
a black medieval door, a steeple
housing the flared dome of vertical music,
all equally rich in their tone,
know nothing is permanent.

When it's breezy, as it is this morning,
I can hear the echo of the bells,
a practiced toll
whispering your name in my body,
allowing me to believe in
the beauty of the universe.

I am drinking red wine in bed,
knowing the breeze this morning,
with you--
sharing the dance of church bells
feeling the damp changing air
warm, kind mottled earth,
visiting my square window.

Under the white sheets,
the downy-soft cream of feathers,
I watch you,
as you
slowly, as to not miss the silky bouquet
of swaying berries drawn to your lips, and
shimmering tendrils worship
your regal purple cheek bones,
laying in lassitude, I am
struck by being a woman.

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