My grandmother tiptoes on secrets of the soil,
Her slit eyes scanning the ages.
She dips her finger into the soil here where many years live
And into the soil there where eons are homed.
Then grandma tastes her soiled finger in tilted stillness
Against the winds, hearing secrets
Of the soils

Now with surgical precision, tenderly
Granny’s mud clear blurs across my eyes
Molds sharpness to my deepest ears
Unclogs the breathlessness of my nose
And chews with my mouth the words of sages!

And rains fall
until crops grow.
And suns shine
until earths crack.
And men lie
with laughing women.
Just like my grand prophetess told.
Just like magic.

And I understand.
And I rule a surprised world.



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: