A Remembering

New

She was a child running with feathers in her hair.

They clung to the strands in loose knots,

beautiful not in their color or presentation,

but in their freedom.

           She laughed as they lit their

fires and sang their songs and beat their drums and

rejoiced and reveled in the hum of their prayers.

Running with her siblings in the cool mist of night,

the earth between her toes were illuminated

by her mother above.

Full

                            The first time she howled

at the moon was in secret. She didn’t wear feathers

in her hair anymore. She pressed her lips and her legs

close together so as not to conjure alarm. She burned

her sage in secret, cleansing in spirit as menstrual blood

to the body by the billowing wisps. She hadn’t forgotten

how.

Source: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/86061042855592258/