The Kindred Black and Brown, Blessed Trans & Sacred Queers
I am sorry for your breaking hearts
Our breaking hearts
My breaking heart
I am sorry that we continue to witness those who say they are allied to us give in to their privilege repeatedly
that you are watching them say things like this is the last one or I’m going for “community” not to support the event
that they are telling themselves that they are going to protect YOU!
that they mistook a walk out, a leaving, a pulling up of roots, a divestment as some simple boycott
I’m sorry they act like this is one small thing when it is symptomatic of the greater diseases:white supremacy and transphobia
that your pain is treated as an inconvenience even unto your own people
They can’t see how this is greater than a weekend, an event, a single moment in time.
Here is my prayer for you
for me in this New Year
May our aching fingers finally ease from the grip of continuing to hold on to skin folk who ain’t kinfolk, from false allies who speak love but remain “conflicted”
May we let go of the responsibility of mending and protecting those who will neither mend nor protect us
May they in all their excuses be revealed like torch bearers on a Charlottesville night
May our palms open so these people can flow from them
So that our empty hands can be filled instead with all the blessings this melanated, binary gender refuting and queer as fuck Universe has to offer us
May your heart be soothed by the centering of your sacred self
Those without the privilege of choice
without the illusion of isolated events
unwilling to love something that does not love them back
You do not nor have you ever asked for too much
You are so deserving of the birthright of your own humanity
May you have it
Every ounce of it
May you never hunger for it
May you never thirst
“I Love Myself More Than I Love This Shit” 2019 Black & Brown Queer/ Trans Pantheacon Walkout & Divestment
*Audio of my words captured by Meredith Simon. Meredith I am beyond grateful for this gift.
*Rallying call of “I love myself more than I love this shit” crafted with the incomparable Beverley Smith. This phrase has become a central guiding force in my life. Thank you for your wisdom.
*Procession lead by Xochiquetzal Duti Odinsdottir. Xochi your willingness to bare your teeth, grasp the staff and part the waters allowed me to pull up the roots and sweep up the last of our wake without concern. Thank you for holding the line.
*The final chants led by Jacki Chuculate know that I am so grateful for you finishing this work with reminders that it is larger than this bubble. That this is all part of a whole. Thank you for lending your energy when I had none left. For sealing this action and focusing us on what we do next.
I’m a #Virgo so this shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone but I once broke up with a guy over a sandwich.
This may sound extra to anyone other than a Taurus but I was wholly justified.
It was a bad day.
I was busy packing my bags for a trip I did not want to take when this guy calls me and says he’d like to come over.
Knowing that “coming over” translates directly into “I’d like to fuck” I told him I was busy and sex wasn’t going to happen.
He assured me that his intentions were non carnal in nature. “Oh no! I just haven’t seen you in a while and I thought it would be nice to visit.”
This was during a time when I was giving all sorts of people the benefit of the doubt.
I said come through.
He arrives later than he said he would and asks for a glass of water. That’s when I see the sandwich in his hand. Strike 1
Did you stop on your way over and get something to eat? I ask, with a loose grip on my pearls
Yeah! He responds with a smile. Strike 2
Oh. I say in Black.
He doesn’t catch the hint. Strike 3 Instead he starts walking towards my room to eat his sandwich while I went to get the glass of water.
Strike 4 I was busy! How you gonna come to my house and ask me to serve you? You know where the fucking kitchen lives.
I hand him the water and kick him out of my room by saying there’s no eating in my room.
I didn’t matter that two nights before we were in there sucking the marrow off of chicken bones. I was fucklessly lying. He showed up at my house with one sandwich.
I should have kicked him out then but I was hyper focused on packing and still deeply steeped in social niceties that I told myself I would give him the boot when he finished eating his goddamn sandwich.
I would like to say that I did that but I fucked him instead.
I was making bad decisions for my pussy back then. That’s why my labia locked up on me for about two years. I totally deserved it when it started going full Gandalf all
I was making some questionable choices and this was one of them.
He cried after.
This was terribly inconvenient as I was busy. But here I was doing aftercare and getting big mad because I fucked this crystal deodorant wearing white boy and his armpit stench was slowly sinking into my pillows.
I added laundry to my tight schedule.
I’m just going stop right here for a moment. I need to stop and apologize right now.
There is a word in Japanese. It goes beyond excuse me, it goes beyond I’m sorry. It is used to express great shame. That word is Gomenasai.
It means: I’m sorry for this unexcusable ass shit I caused.
Sweet pussy of mine, gomenasai. I should not have let that single sandwich bringing, non sharing, crystal wearing motherfucker in you my pussy.
That was rude.
Once he stops crying he has another glass of water and leaves.
I go to sleep annoyed but the next day I wake up mad as fuck with pillows still smelling like hacky sacks.
When get back from my trip he calls me trying to come over to “catch up” aka trying to fuck.
Him: Is everything okay?
Him: (engage maximum Bay Area I’m listening and open to discourse mode) What’s up?
Me:You didn’t share your sandwich.
Him:(shooketh) I didn’t know you wanted a sandwich. You didn’t tell me you wanted one.
Me: (deflect low-level deffered blame volley)How you going to show up at somebody’s house, who you ain’t even supposed to be at in the first place, who is busy and stop and get a motherfuking sandwich and don’t pick one up for the person you want to smash. That tells me who you are right there.
I still let you hit it though and that tells me who I am. I made that decision. And I regret it. But you know that’s what happens when you don’t love yourself.
Him:(applies white boy teflon trick, nothing is absorbed) I never had it like you. I never had to learn how to share. I didn’t have any family growing up so I never learned to share cuz I was an only child. It was just me as an only child.
Me: ( falls for it even though my soul is saying um fucking kindergarten bitch) Well that makes sense kind of I guess…
Him: (waxes poetic on lonesome childhood allowing time for my incredulous mana bar to return to full health. )
Me:( wait doesn’t he have a whole fine ass Blackwoman at home? this ain’t a new concept) Nope! That doesn’t work for me. Actually the sandwich was just like the tip of the iceberg!
I then went “IN”
About a month ago. Less than 45 minutes after being inside of me. He asked me to walk him to the West Oakland BART because he felt unsafe.
Colonization and internalized racism had me out there escorting this casually microaggressive man the two fully lit blocks on a main road to BART.
I told him how fucked up this was and why.
This boy said, “Well you seem to feel safe in your neighborhood so 🤷”
I popped off.
My neighbor isn’t dangerous.
It’s Black & Brown and if it did happen to be dangerous I am more vunerable in it or any neighborhood than he was! Even if you removed the racism from this shit (which you can’t) what’s left is him feeling real danger and not giving a fuck about exposing me to that danger.
I told him we were done. Because I can’t trust him to have my six. He’s not willing to protect me or fight with or for me.
I later received a wounded missive about how he has thought about it and this is an “opportunity” for me to learn how to not be bound by traditional gender roles. According to him I was limiting the both of us in expression by being so expectant and insensitive. He has been mugged before. I was forcing masculine tropes on him and that was triggering.
I laughed so hard that I had to summon my entire soul back into my body.
I’ve been mugged too. I (ill-advisedly) angrily mouthed off with a gun pressed against my back while my boyfriend nearly pissed himself. I informed him that I don’t give a fuck about traditional gender roles. If we fucking we fighting.
That moment crystalized an intimacy standard for me.
If I’m fucking you or fucking with you I’ll fight besides you. I’ll be part of your safety and I demand that you be part of mine.
This is non-negotiable.
Only one exception to this rule.
If/When I fuck up. Then tell me and if I refuse to hear or learn let me eat the entire pavement and clown me.
I didn’t hear from him for quite some time.
It was over a year when I ran into him at a public event. He sent me a message of apology later that week stating how he reflected and grew over that time and wanted to reconnect.
But I knew that fine ass BlackWoman had juuuuuust left him and he had sent courting messages to two other fine ass fat BlackWomen who were also at the event.
So Yeah, I broke up with a bitch over a “sandwich”
and because mammy is dead
and I hope in 2020 you do too.
I surround myself with them
I’m obsessed with them
I’m a collector of them
I’m a collection of them
I am my mother’s story and her mother’s story before her and her mother’s story before her. I’m filled with the treasures and the traps of all these elevated and exiled Ancestors in one hand and me in the other.
I tried carrying both over a minefield because I’m acutely aware of the sacrifices that have gone into the making of me.
I tried to carry both and the attempt was breaking me so I had to choose
I worried that my Ancestors were disappointed with me or disgusted by me because I chose to let go of their narratives. The ones that made me alien in my own sovereign body.
But as I staged and staggered through my own (R)evolution I realized that they were handed their stories by a cis het white dominated patriarchy just like me.
In centering myself and my people in my narratives I am salvaging pages that have been violently erroded by oppression and manipulation.
I am a new story in the library of us.
One that gets to get told.
Black now in TECHNICOLOR!
And my Ancestors?
They are so active, so understanding, so proud and so loud. Eeeeeee and so nosey! It’s embarrassing that I have to ask them to step away from the bed when I bring my partner into it.
They love me.
They love me not in spite of but because.
Because I’m the Queer Fat Black Non Binary Femme Witch story some of them didn’t get to live.
📸 By @tristancrane photography for the Here Portraits Project https://www.tristancrane.com/blog/tag/here-portraits/
Normally I share the story of the Goddess of Joy on this day but not this time.
This season has been so fucking hard and that’s my own fault. I made an ask to the God of Death when the veil was thin and He drank of the holy offering and delivered.
When I asked for freedom from scarcity I thought it was a clever way of gaining money and security that money can offer. I was quickly shown where the real scarcity came from and put in a process of healing and mending that meant that several things had to go.
It drove me through grief and into numbness. I’m moving in the flow of it now. I’m not fighting it anymore. I’m letting it wash over me. Screaming into the cold darkness is actually a comfort.
I’m having dramatic ugly cries.
I beat my chest and pull at my hair and I curse and I dry heave. Each layer ripped back reveals a part of me that has been lost for so long so I’m facing it.
Letting my tears become a black mirror so I can catch all these peices of me.
I’m in the middle of this journey right now on this long night. I hold my past stories written for me in on hand and my past stories rewritten by me in the other.
Tonight I commit what is not mine into the fire of transformation.
I look forward to the rest of this dark season and the rest it has mandated. I yeild to the necessity of it.
I need all I can get
So I can be ready for what rises with the Sun.
May you have all you need in these dark days
May you rest well
And awake renewed
Written for the Living Tarot 2018 “The Sun”
Oh beauteous child
Beauteous child of the unKnown universe
Mourn not for things you lost in the nebulous night
for rended hearts,
knocked over dreams spilling into oblivions of gloom
Mourn not for things Dark Mother has stripped from you
It has burned to ash in the dawning of this glorious day
You were never meant to navigate upon someone else’s trajectory
You were meant to pull planets of your own design into an orbit composed and conducted by the fire of your beating heart,
the flame of your eternal spirit
the devouring incandescence of your sex
This is a requiem for the stygian fray
a summoning for the dawning day
This is a requiem for the trials and vexations
a summoning for the harbingers of creation
This is a requiem for the ill gotten stories that turned your mirrored soul to smoke screen
a summoning for the deliciously indecent decadent innocence of your true self seen
Oh beauteous child of the unknown universe
night will fall again
And I promise you
Like the sun
And all that stands in your way
Shall burn before your gaze
Remember that you are the sun
Now rise and fucking shine
If you’ve ever been to one of my classes or workshops I begin it with a warning.
This is why.
Five years ago today I came into my Teacher’s home for the first time as a student.
I had met them before in passing, in community, in a particularly hilarious foretelling photoshoot.
I’m not sure what I expected in that moment. All I knew was that for once in my life I was going to see it through.
I didn’t know what I was signing up for but they did.
I didn’t know I would fall in love.
I fell in love with them and the Students and other Initiates of this tradition.
I fell in love with myself.
And lez be clear,this is not some eat pray whatever the fuck kind of love. This is a love that has teeth and talons. This love holds up a mirror that I can not hide from. This love burned me and the whole fucking village I built to maintain the lie of that “me” to ash and coal.
A few months into study I sat wide eyed and embarrassed at my Teacher’s table. They were patient. Waiting for me to pull up what ever words were stuck in my throat.
“I’m not impeccable,” I managed to say eventually. “I don’t think I can do this without being impeccable. I want to be impeccable”
They looked at me with an unreadable expression that I’ve come to understand and cherish over the years. They responded simply.
“Then go be impeccable.”
A lot of the study was like that. Me admitting the worst and the best of myself and having to hold it all, decide what to do with it all from this place of impeccability that openly mocked perfection.
A Virgo’s worst nightmare!
When I started this path I was working 60+ hours a week between the desk job, performing, massage co-producing. I was sharing my time and body with people who would not see me nor cherish me. I was kneeling at the feet of others and offering them the sword that is my soul for their acceptance, for their kindness, for their love.
I was content to be small as possible because I equated it with being safe.
I thought the only way people would see me as human in this body and in this skin was through what I could offer them. Because what I was wasn’t good enough.
What I was wasn’t good enough.
What I was wasn’t good enough for me because what I was wasn’t real.
The path to Initiation meant I had to be real.
In being real I lost so much; Friends, family, jobs, lovers, homes, safe spaces. I was constantly screaming:
But I Need That!!!
And the Universe would rise up laughing and singing back:
Bitch, do you? Do you tho? Let’s test this theory!!!
This labyrinth spun me out casually. At times I believed I was going insane but I was only falling in(to) sanity.
I’m difficult now
I’ve got boundaries and expectations
I’m unpredictable now
I’ve got a moral code not based on social norms or expectations
I’m wild now
I’ve got desires and agendas
Like one of my beloved brothers t-shirts says
I’ve got many Gods now
and no Masters
I don’t hide my mouth when I laugh anymore instead it sounds like thunder
I don’t hide my tears anymore
I sob openly until I choke
I don’t hide my excitement anymore
my screams upset the birds in their branches
I don’t silence my rage anymore
I write, I speak, I look it in the eyes
It’s exhausting thb.
But it’s a whole lot less exhausting than the lie.
I’m still losing things.
Five years later I’m still losing things I never thought I would.
My Teacher became my Mother and if I am found to truly be kin of this kind they will soon become my Sister.
I cried and mourned the loss of this type of love even as I rejoice in anticipation of standing in this faith shoulder to shoulder with them.
I thanked them for bringing me up as a witch. I acknowledge that this has also brought me up as a human being. That no matter what happens now I am accountable and responsible for myself and what work I do in this world.
They smiled and said “Now you are impeccable.”
Initiations can happen in big ways and sometimes in very small mundane ways. They happen like storms, suddenly or soft and gently. They are constantly occurring if you know how to look for them, if you are mindful.
So with that said
Seekers of the Mysteries
Witches wanting more
Archaeologists of the Ancient Names
Lovers of Whispered Lore
You have more to lose than you could ever have imagined
Each slight change in your lens makes the world you live in untenable and that makes you responsible
In order to truly live you will have to die
The Apple is bitter and sweet
The Apple is poison and medicine
The Apple is ipecac
The Apple bites back
And it’s as delicious as it is deadly.
We sometimes joke that our full title is
Femme Mountain: Books, Bones, Sticks & Stones
Our home has been furnished through estate sales, things passed on to us by elders and our own Dead.
The art and photos have their own stories, spells and history.
We are surrounded by altars of our own making. They move, the house moves, there is often the sound of feet on the stairs that are not ours.
An elegant lady has recently begun to appear in the upstairs hallway and we are as surprised to see her as she is to see or be seen by us!
As the fall makes things quieter the house gets louder and something about the cold air makes the stars outside shine clearer in the night.
It is in this Holy Darkness that we light our black candle.
Amidst fruit that bleeds rich and red.
We are the flesh fed from the bright light and lives of our Mighty Dead.
We are flesh fed from the bright light and fruit of this land.
We began the Witches New Year by filling our home with that light and the light of others to sustain us as the wheel turns again to dark.
May you have all you need.
May your reflections in the dark mirror be true but gentle.
May the stillness drive you to peace instead of madness.
May you be warmed by the light of all those that have gone before you and stand with you in the Night.
Happy New Year & Blessed Samhain
📸 of our altar by @chrystyphoto
During my #InTheFaceOfFear workshop one of the suggestions I offer is working with your Ancestors.
My Ancestor practice had been dismal until 5 years ago and I am still very much growing into it and with it.
This can be a hard thing to do.
Some of us are cut off from our Ancestors. Genocide, the erasure effects of white supremacy, internal family violence/rejection/ abandonment are real cock blockers when it comes to forging these powerful bonds.
That’s where healers like Luna Pantera come in. As the queer, gender non binary offspring of an outcast I figured my ancestors would haaaaaate me or at least be disappointed.
I was so wrong.
Luna helped me locate Elevated Ancestors to work with to heal my lines.
One of the questions posed to me by a white participant in the class was how to work with Ancestors they are not proud of. Ancestors that have done harm.
I realized that this is probably why white people doing liberation work keep calling on Harriet fucking Tubman #stopit
It’s your job to heal those lines
Accept the shit storm.
You benefit directly from your racist ass Ancestors.
Work with a Healer and also do tangible “on this plane” world work like making donations to the Ancestor Descendant of people who they harmed in their names.
Ask those Ancestors to provide the funds for it even.
But work with them.
If possible work with a Healer, a Therapist or Community Support because it can be intense and bring up a lot of shit.
Proceed with intention and caution!
I’ve found through this engagement that I am not the only one who was queer, who was witch, who was against the grain, who was team guardrail. I’ve learned to value my Mighty Dead, to hear them, to fight with them, to love them.
And I’ve learned that I am dearly loved by them too.
Connect to Luna Pantera on Facebook or via email at Luna@lunastouch.com
The waves were glowing in the dark as they broke across the sands
My bare feet followed the path through the rustling grass. It grew higher with every step. Pulling at the hem of my dress
Aren’t you afraid
A voice said
Aren’t you going to turn away
A voice said
There was cacophony between my ears. As loud as it was when I was a child. Several beings speaking at once.
Some saying Don’t! Turn Back! Stop!
Others saying Trust us! You can be afraid but you must trust us!
As the ground below me dipped I reached out. Blind with out my glasses. Impeded by the night. I trusted. I gripped the earth and it gripped me back.
Delivered me gently to the sandy shore.
I started digging
Frantically, fanatically, desperately
Crying and screaming
I don’t know what’s next
I don’t want to die
This hurts so much
I’m so broken
I’m so broken
I’m so broken
I wailed into the hole until words dissolved into gutteral and keening songs
For once my throat let me
Loosened so I could push it out
Take this please!
Transform this please!
When I was done covered the hole
Instantly embarrassed for showing up at Their house without an offering to give.
When I rose up with apologies on my lips I was pulled back down.
My belly filling the space my tears once had
I was prostrate
Screaming again through a mouth full of sand
My brothers were there then
Telling me to keep going
Telling me that I was loved
Telling me that I was not alone
Telling me that the fires in the sky were my home and my people
I shifted as some thing moved into mr
kicked me twice like a knocking from the inside.
I sat up with legs spread open
Felt like labor
I began to laugh and sigh and say ow! As I held their arms for support.
The grief and fear and rage had been transformed and given back to me. Clay I could shape into something new.
They blew blessed tobacco on my feet, my palms, my heart, my head, my thighs, my womb. I took a lung full of it and kissed it into the sand.
They wrapped me in a blanket
And our fingers intertwined as we watched the ocean glow under a sky full of stars.
Whole and Beautiful
took the dark path back into the light
Slowing down has made me realize how deeply exhausted and deeply fucked I am right now
I’ve been moving big energy for people
I’ve been making big asks for other people’s benefit
I haven’t factored myself into the equation (again)
I’ve got two days here and then it back to the grind. I’m lucky to have this. I want to focus on the gratitude but I can’t stop myself from wanting to cry.
My throat hurts from not screaming
The last month has seen
big rituals that cost me dearly to preform
stepping away from an 11 relationship that cost me dearly to be in
the loss of a place to work and the income that comes with it
I’m not okay
I know I’m going to be but right now I am not okay.
I need help.
All of this is bigger than me.
All the work I’m doing is bigger than me and I need help.
But first I need to cry and scream
then I can figure out what that looks like
then I can ask.
We were outside of a theater when it happened.
“How are you?” popped out of my mouth. It’s a common courtesy. Something we say without thinking and to be honest often without feeling.
When they asked “Can I be honest with you?” I looked them directly in their eyes and gave my consent for an authentic exchange.
They weren’t okay.
The information they trusted me with allowed us to discuss how I could hold them in a way that was safe for us both.
Actually someone just knowing how they really were was 90% of what they needed.
This interaction changed me I started answering honestly when people asked me “How are you?”
So much so that I don’t get asked that much anymore.
Sometimes when people ask that question I laugh and say how loaded it is.
Sometimes I say that I want to say I’m fine but the truth is that I am a fat Black queer witch coming to the end/beginning of a spiritual journey and (insert name of recent Black person executed by the police state here) was murdered so many weeks/days/hours ago. So do you want an honest answer or can we continue with what we came here to do?*
As a caretaker and assistant to a person’s healing process I thought this level of honesty would be a problem, that my clients would find me messy or lacking.
It’s had the opposite reaction.
My clients have seen it as a strength.
My clients have identified with it.
My clients have trusted me to move big energy with them because I am in it WITH them.
If anything it’s opened discussion on self care techniques.
It’s made me Spiritually and Physically put my “oxygen mask on first”.
It’s helped me work from a more honest place within myself.
It’s helped them open up to me so we can engage in vunerable, shifting catharsis that is beneficial to us both.
When I ask “How are you?” I mean it.
I lean in when I ask it.
I make eye contact.
I want to know.
It’s an invitation for others to share their humanity with me. I think this is the original intention of the phrase. To see each other. I think that’s gotten lost in the social niceties.
I don’t go in much for social niceties anymore. But that’s a discussion for another time.
*Always give em an out😉
The answer is no.
PG&E will not remiburse one damn dime.
There are people laughing at this situation or saying others are soooooo delicate
But some people in rural areas where these cut offs are happening don’t even have access to water because the pump houses are on electric.
If we didn’t have a hot tub I wouldn’t have been able to flush the toilet. I’m able bodied so I was able to carry water up and down the stairs. I should have filled the bath tub with water but I didn’t think it through.
I’m not complaining.
I just think it’s insane that a luxury item saved my ass. A luxury item not many people have.
I’m lucky my FemmeMountain Family lived somewhere that losses power in the winter before so they knew what to do and I just rolled with it.
But what if.
What if we didn’t have a generator
What if most of us weren’t able bodied
What if we didn’t have a community with means to tap into
What if we didn’t have enough money in the account to buy a tank of gas the day before or some food items that don’t need to be cold.
What if we were dependent on a local 9 to 5 to pay the bills
What if we were older with no immediate family in the area
What if a fire happened anyway and we couldn’t get down the stairs and our car out of the garage because we don’t have the ability to stand to pull the lever on the manual release.
I had a rager of a headache yesterday all day because I couldn’t get good sleep on my CPAP…and maybe the mushrooms, but mostly the CPAP!
I didn’t want to chance the generator going out in the night because I’ll suffocate before I wake up and it’s terrifying to have that happen.
I have the privilege of being able to get to the Berkeley flats
I have the privilege of being able to have my choice of places to stay due to a queer love fueled network
I don’t have a headache today.
My worry is so trival compared to so many still without power.
They can’t work
Their food has spoiled
They can’t breathe
Some are trapped in their homes
Some have no water
And PG&E as of last fucking night refused to comment on wether all the money that went to maintenance actually went to maintenance last year or this year.
In a press conference they said it wasn’t their concern. Blame the environment and not our shitty equipment that has been in neglect for years and years.
I’d rather not see another devastating fire and this will have devastating effects for people to. For the most vulnerable of us.
Meanwhile Sacramento is on it’s own grid like LOL y’all totes should have invested in local county run power companies. This could have been you ⚡💡⚡but y’all gave into the monopoly.
Even writing about an energy shut down as an extreme situation is hella 1st world because there are places that don’t even haaaaave access 24/7
We ain’t ready.
Here’s a community link if you need or can offer assistance.
*As of writing this I have one person in my network who has a family member in the ER as a direct result of electrical outrage + disability
several single mothers with children and no support having to purchase food
several disabled friends and family living in spaces they can’t get around in
several people having CPAP sleep overs
I remember saying “No”
The way it rolled off my lips with the same ease as goodmorning or goodnight
The laughter that announced its arrival and filled the silence in its wake
I remember how clean it was
No taint of “with exception” or “I’ll consider if you would only… ”
My No was softness around me
Something warm with muscles running beneath the tuft coat of a cat like beast
It coiled around my feet
licked my calves
A gentle thing to me but terrifying to others
I remember how I wielded it, fed it, loved it with an unconscious ease before I was told to chain it, hide it, deny it valuable resources so others could love me
No one has ever loved me in the particular way my No once had.
I’m remembering her as I cry over her starved and shrunken frame
As I brush her coat, give her my tears to drink and my rage to eat
I tend her the way she tended me as a child. I pull her into my heart and beg her forgiveness.
Remind her how we were once like Calvin and Hobbes
Changing worlds, bending possibility, clearing roads
Expansive… I remember her as she buries her face into my hair with relief
Grown now as I am
I remember the child this beast once guarded
I remember how precious we were to each other
And I welcome both back home.
Art Credit: Simba Wa Kike – Jennalee Auclair