There is something in the rhythm

something in the movement

something lingering

something fowl

yet still loved

to have to hold all this in

to have to hold it at all

something deeper than grief

something holier than rage

something older than war

something

must be

done

I was supposed to find something here. There was supposed to be something meaningful tucked away in a spot so obvious yet so over looked and then one day I was supposed to look up and see it. See that meaningful, tucked away, obvious thing. Instead all I have is a fist full of anger and heart that hears the word unconditional and thinks, break. Thinks pain. Thinks, sacrifice. Sacrifice....sometimes same word as offering.

My heart hears the word offering and thinks, greedy hands. Thinks, stolen. Thinks men who came in with smiles and left out with clitched teeth and locked jaws.

I swear it was supposed to be simple...but the pain, the pain complicated everything.

You set fire to all we were and then resented me for the ashes.

Me, to busy choking on the smoke to notice the burns but still feeling the pain.. Everywhere, always.

You say women are in charge of ritual. And so I spread the ash in circles, spear it all over the walls of doubt.

Can you build a bridge out of ash?

Can you light the way with ash?

Can you rebuild a man with ash?