demeter at dusk | poem
when we carry more than our share,
we will be met
in time
with all we deserve.
and then
we will carry truths
only vast spirits can hold—
a reserved knowing,
a resonance
only few will stand upon.
that is the secret
our bodies keep.
old pain, once buried
beneath every inch of soft flesh,
is our capacity to carry
the weight of the world
until fully lived in
and turned scripture.
when that time comes,
when all that needs to be known
has risen through the body,
it repairs itself.
not before.
like every great goddess—
full and wide,
her light cast long
like a moon in the tenth,
silent in her knowing,
and sacred.
unbeknownst to the hollow,
a quiet offering to us
from the vapid verdicts without end,
bound to hunger,
like those who starve.
and if refusal to transcend
is rooted in bitter thorn,
let it be known:
we are permitted
to eat you whole.
I like the feel of this. And the art.