The brazen words of women
raised us, with small change
in their pockets, wrapped
with yesterday’s tattle.
Calico cats rubbed at familiar
heels on the cold lino,
waiting to be fed
by reverent hands.
Sisters gathered, blending
into the loud wallpaper
with steaming cups and gossip
to heal their harms.
We flew out the kitchen door
unseen and not heard into the long grass
and magical make-believe
down the garden path.
The elders had bedded their wits
deep in the soil but we
found sense as we dug for worms
by the sage and lemon balm.
The apple tree we climbed
crafted signs inside its fruit,
to be laid bare as hot, starred slices
in harvest pies and crumbles.
Now, I brew tea with rosehips
and memories and swallow
it hot like flame and grief
or a deep red blessing.
I go down to the sea where
stones circle my feet and
salt water bathes my hurts as I
call the compass winds to cast my wishes.
~ Kore Sage