What happens when I become softer or warmer or slower when I feel myself?~Thomas Huebl
Two hawks kite and spiral through
the mating skies, summon me
solitary suburban witness with new-made
eyes and the intention to be precise.
My charade ingrained habit learned
with Peter Rabbit, hare-brained
beliefs I trust with my life.
What a gift to the world when
I examine my burdens unnamed
I’ve ignored to declaim
global trauma. Summon
a shaman. These hawks suffice.
Tell me why do I
combine all my unmet moments
to project on the wide screen?
My routine battle a smokescreen
bypass my contribution,
I demand absolution but
I cannot be vulnerable,
take risks in love. I hover above
can’t even breathe,
spinning in the whirlwind
threats of a pandemic,
old structures collapse endemic
to the separation myth. How
can I give myself now
what I never received?
I call like an urgent raptor
dare to name these shadows.
In our connected place,
I hug myself in quiet space
a warm regard, a love embrace.
Root and ground like a great
tree–and touch so delicately
pain I hold yet cannot free.
My healing song invites
the places I’ve condemned
to simply be a hymn
resonating I bring my darkness to the light
bring all of me. The beings calling
from the skies here now the key
I finally heed. Witness my fear
with me? All you have is mine, I finally see.
Featured image of Cooper’s hawk credit.