Self Portrait

For Imbolc, a poem from The Inbetween

Collage art by Stella Lyn Norris. Title: The Inbetween

I am the darkness holding fast 
And the waiting world, hungry for light
I am the belly that holds the seed and the promise of that light
I am a winged being
And the need of the light and hope and feathers 
For a place to call Home
I am a small brown twig
Carefully selected by one who says
Who who whoooo

I am woven with my brothers and sisters
My body is a landing pad
A soft and yielding place that will receive The Gift
Bare enough almost to see through and angel-y white
Hard shelled and thin skinned
I hold the dream of someday flying, of someday
Becoming penetrable

I am the tiny membrane that no one thinks about
Between this careful form, so neat and tidy
And the chaos of coming into being
All Earth-brown, sticky, and hungry mouthed

Someday I will be a wing that stretches
But I am all elbows and an empty belly at first
Eyes shut tight and crying for a mother
I will be the mother and the worm and the soft pinkness of the tender beak that receives it
Like the sweet small violets of Springtime that drink from the shade
And keep company with the old leaves
No longer high and mighty
That have come to rest beneath the sleeping fig tree

I am the sap that has gone from the wood into the great hereafter
And that tender purple softness with the light shining through
I am the reaching hand that wants for a fleeting sweetness on the tongue
I am the back that bends 
And the hand that plucks the ephemeral from its peace beneath the tree
I am the tongue and the taste
Almost peppery under the melting softness

I am a wanderer who only wants a place to call Home 
Somewhere, somewhere
Under the stars
Nothing opulent — just a structure made crudely of Earthen Things
Things that will outlast me
And then return to their place in the Natural Order of Things.

I am Turtle, She who carries Her house on Her back
And what is a mansion in far-off Heaven compared to twigs and forgotten dried grasses?
I will long for the egg and for the belly that cast the first stone
I will be searching for the light as it sifts through pale shells and membranes and the miracle of flight waiting therein

I will long for a mother and a home and the safety of a nest
Not knowing that the whole thing is me
That the seed and the yolk, the temporary housing, the silently held hunger 
Are all just a film across our eyes

I remember what it is to be small and helpless
And to be a mother, wiping sleep from her childrens eyes
I have planted fields and watered the world and hoped for growth
And I remember when it started: the checking for breath
No one tells you that with breaking through comes a breaking down
You have to learn that for yourself

First, there is learning how to give your children the gift of life
And all its fullness
And then, the death of you

The crush of motherlove does not kill you all at once
But only in the way that a river eats rocks for breakfast
Slowly digesting the flight of heron over the water
The slant of light through trees
And fish that dart into dark shadows, away from claws and beaks
Beauty that is too much to hold, and seasons
Seasons, seasons 
They turn around us, yes, but pass almost unnoticed
So subtle are the changes when mountains give themselves
One grain of sand at a time
To the relentlessness of oceans

In rare moments of silence and a fragile peace
I did not exhale deeply and thank the stars
Instead, I checked anxiously for signs of life
Watching for tiniest movements with a fear over me
I was told to put on my own oxygen mask first
(Mothers: you know what I am speaking of)
But who among us would not pull away the caul to free the silent scream
Even if, all the while her own lips are drawn into a thin hard line
Her whole body
A breathless fist
Ready to fight life itself for the birthright of first breath

I have been the fist
And the hard line
 I have pulled away veils from the mouths of babes 
(Not my own— those of other mothers)
Thin membranes that no one ever thinks of 
The caul: a good luck charm for a person that will never drown
They will have the gift of Sight
They will be Medicine People
(Not my children— those of other mothers)

My own kids were not so blessed
They drank freely of the air with an immediacy, and of me
They took everything I had to offer
They had the hunger and the open mouths
And stumbled clumsily from the nest
I was the air and the hunger, the twigs and dry branches
My heart was the petal soft soles of their feet
Which, heretofore, had never touched ground
I said Who who whoooo! I will fight the tides and gravity if I have to 
(And I will have to)
But the tides and gravity will always win
And I will fail

The charmed-luck caul babies are sometimes born scared
Carrying gifts can be a different kind of burden than not having them at all
(But a burden, nonetheless)
I have seen the looks on startled faces 
Trapped beneath the raiment of the womb
They bring this torn piece of motherfabric with them in their blossoming
This fragment of the great mystery

They carry it from deep inside the cave, out into the light
Openmouthed beneath the thing no one thinks about
They try to draw breath, and find they cannot
They land in my hands in a panic
Why can’t I breathe in this wide and open space?
Their wide and open eyes are asking

I am the sac, opaque and stretchy 
 — a first home
I am an open, aching space, trying desperately to function as a mouth should
I am big eyes taking it all in, and eyes tightly shut against the light
I am a hand that removes the film
I am the unseen world
The darkness
From which everything has ever emerged 
And left a track

A good traveler leaves no trace
But I am the the tracks
And the woods
And the landlocked feet that run across them
Screaming into the wind