By Appointment

I never needed rescuing,

Yet I kept playing the part.


A time of reclamation for a creature who lives in her poems,

in the desert,

in this beautiful, able body.


“Suck it up, buttercup,” and “tough shit”

are the messages offered through Source.


Within me is the medicine

and the dreams of new life growing.


Sun hours of illusion dying,

shattering my heart and the conditions

built upon a missed teaching

to trust my own emergence.


Allies of plants, of Spirit,

and many hands of humanity.


A container has been made

for the life/death/life cycle.

Within the cocoon rests a vision of my wild,

amidst the sorrow of my loss.


An insulation for my return to the temple

from which I am made.


With many eyes, I bow to the teachers

who guide in unconventional ways,

and the healers who nourish

leaving only an option of rebirth.


Patterns of salvation resourced from another

who is no longer there

has left me naked,

far from a queen’s throne.


I wrap the blanket of union

around my own shoulders.


Soon enough

I will emerge.

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