They come to visit like long parted besties
Cousins to the reunion
To Granny’s birthday
long after she has become Great-Granny and Great-Great Granny and Ever-So-Great Granny
and has ceased to be embodied as a single woman
still they come,
cousins to the reunion,
her embodiment now.

Not where I thought I was going with this.
Time to listen to some stories.

Watching Dawn Approach

I came out in the dark and in starlight to listen and to make the words go
and now the world is revealing itself to eyes
and there might be texture of grass or tree or stone
but most of all, slowly revealed, are two dark, alert guardians
watching with Mamaidh.

Strange place to be,

this moment,
on the edge,
on the brink of a very deep chasm
and the bottom is very, very dark.

I am absolutely certain that a Very Big Bad is down there.
Very Big.
One of the ones that nightmares are made from,
and I am being pulled by my guts past the edge of the cliff.

But I am a Sparrow
And my grandmothers were Dragons.
And they taught me to fly.

So many

Thoughts, feelings, actions, messages, desires, triumphs, defeats, attempts, champions, wins, moods, niggles, memories, friends, peoples, contraditions, persons, voices,

So many voices.
I must hand them the speaking stone.
I must hear each voice and think on each voice
and respond thoughtfully to each voice
and when they come so thick and fast

I lose my footing.

Right now

Oak carries his brother from the darkness
awkwardly through the gap
then adjusting

Finds him a quiet spot with a gentle one
to tend and wait
while Oak himself must share his strength with many

But ever, the king leans,
so slightly,
perhaps just one iota of attention,
toward the quiet place of Holly.

In this way are the People held,
by twin kings who—in this story at least—
save one another.

Now and then a day of silence

Without voices, snores, music, shows, papers shuffling, laundry washing
And the precious hours of quiet seep into my heart
To renew old paths by walking down them again.

Not even the literal sound: right now no one else is stirring, snoring, sighing in their sleep.
Yet I feel their presence—their wonderful, warm, love presence—and I designate a thread of attention poised to follow their moments, their movements, their meaning.

But when the house is just for me
—and the dogs—
I can attend to other things, inner and outer and defying that binary.

They’re home now, sleeping, which is best;
and I will savor the next day of silence when it comes.