open hand

morning croaked open: mountain bluebirds, mourning doves, white-throated swifts, freshwater voice pulls me salted and bruised from hard dreams lightninged through with parted heart-swallows & ropey future what-ifs

your morning skin on inhale a nod to my toddler god: lived-in cotton clutched to my face, shredded vessel of my unconditioned hard-rubbed love

how is it you bring this gift? I had forgotten what forged me. you reek of origin, a stone, there, see me wedged warmly in earth pushing my weight forth to ripple your heart around my jagged thrust, your mouth, wet surface, new womb 

born an open hand I learned the safety of fist, each year a finger folded, grew tighter, forgot sun. No was my home

yes to the flood of you, I unfolded my sharp joints, buried them in your riverbed 
will I be drowned (power)
will I be rounded from ragged stone (love)

each morning swims to me faithful as sunrise mountain bluebirds, mourning doves, warm-tided song in your throat
cadence: warn cotton of remember
crescendo: you, my soft loop of future

Photo credit: KT Langley Photography