at gods garage
summer strums in 
on a strong wind
and Samia’s hair
becomes like the river
soft foam
silver ripples
being carried 
to the black shallows
of the sea

Samia’s singing
pierces the wind
weaving between
the deeply bowing trees
at her feet
is a patchwork of picnic blankets
like a thick web of mycelium
women sitting 
women listening 

these are the women 
who raised me
this stand of sisters
these are the women
who raised me 
by staying rooted 
in their own being

the kinship
softens the surface tension
that has gripped my body
a tangible vulnerability
shudders through me
like a seed cracking
by the pressure of soil and rain
finally

I am rising up out of 
the dense debris of grief
so much loss
more emptiness  
than a heart can contain
emerging tender 
a slight sapling
in the refuge 
of ancient trees

these are the women 
who raised me
by rising out
of unseen resistance
these are the women 
who raised me 
by rising up
again and again
life gives
life takes away

these sisters surrounding me
are unwavering
eyes on Samia’s serenade
I breathe in —
this shelter
this sanctuary
stirring a forgotten memory
exaltation —

   this 
this is why trees need forests
nothing 
nothing
stands 
on its own

2024 | kSage