honeysuckle: an herb of dreams and divination; helpful for connecting with the spirit realms; according to folklore, the fragrance alone embodies pure passion.
I come from a line of wet soil women
seeped in the mist of age-old silence.
At noon I dig, but I do not find them—
they are too far away, or too busy
pouring themselves out to pacify angry deserts.
At midnight I grow tired, and curl up with in shovel,
slump softly into honeysuckle dreams.
I wake submerged, deep underneath the flowers
in the bloody dark moon muck.
Down here I root into sweet musky earth,
silent exaltation. These women—my women—
rise in stillness to kneel beneath
the arms of their mother.
Down here they are different.
Translucent. They kneel on shed cocoons
gently, gently—down, pour honey on wounds,
dripping, dripping, honey covered hands
raised high, suck honeysuckle medicine.
Down here, my women are hymn and howling.
Deep in the wet soil earth,
my women are prayer in action.