(Joy Harjo)

It happened so slowly, slower than the leaves falling
in the mountains. I offered up my truth, without
venom or need, and it was ordinary. Later,
you shared that space, a shame no longer yours.

Time gone cold I couldn’t bear to be near my skin.
I would hover to one side and shake my self in,
just to touch. Clothes so loose
my outline faded, an apology for space.

Humanness no longer filled with bees, as
the old story of what was done has been
left by the side of the road. I have stopped
looking for myself in the eyes of bears.

A pattern long since lost, hints
at my fingertips. To receive touch
in kindness, or meet a hand in mine.
Aliveness, like spring rain, is welcomed
without flinching.

Meredith Pitt

 

Meredith Pitt is a Blue Mountains based poet. She has honed her craft through attendance of numerous workshops and the occasional residential week-long course. Her work has been published in online and print journals.

© 2021