there’s a quiet art
in knowing her
when you find your fears
validated for a moment by the world
– you’re not safe here –
there’s a quiet art
in remembering her..

she remains
in love with the soil
no matter if they’ve stripped it,
stripped her..

she remains
in love with the way the shadows flower through her..

she remains
curling her toes in the mud,
dancing naked between the trees,
cloaking her body with the scent of her lover,
harvesting the soul’s medicine
and placing it in the cups of those around her,
standing with her eyes drilled into a future,
rooted in a past,
that they are blind to..

she remains
in the space that’s churning with change..

she remains
holding the world in her belly,
and in the belly of the world..

there’s a quiet art
in truly remembering
her.