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Saturday, April 7, 2012


Faithfulness to the past can be a kind of death above ground. Writing of the past is a resurrection; the past then lives in your words and you are free.
Jessamyn West

Ode to My Resurrection

The other day,
minutes before the day fell
into black night,
I spoke to my resurrection:
White lotus rise from mud,
child rise from the primordial ocean,
woman nourish from pagan grass,
phoenix rise from sovereign ash.
My soul’s entombment resurges
in the moment of the rising of
something once dead.

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