At Your Birth

A woman concentrated, distilled

Welcome, and a warm first hello to the newcomers!

I’m so happy you’re here.

Each of these Sunday poetry collections centers loosely around a tarot card, and this week, we’re checking in with the High Priestess.

She looks within for guidance from her own experience.

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Contents:

1. Hands of a Girl

2. Racing Heart

3. The Sun at Your Birth

HANDS OF A GIRL

Maybe a small girl will grow up tall to be a woman:
Perhaps, she’ll experience the whole life of a woman.

Why is it that unmarried women live longer than men,
But men who marry fare better than those who live in sin?

And what about all those who do not fit the binary?
Should they just select which parts of themselves will stay within?

A complete life cycle sees a woman concentrated,
Distilled, into a pound of flesh that cannot be taken. 

Dubious, the stability of a thing that cannot,
Or will not, bend to the changeable wishes of the wind.

How many generations believed that our body type
Wasn’t from poverty, that we were naturally thin?

Some kids survive to adulthood, and some children do not.
Nobody tells you any rules, or when the game will end.

Shelby, you reached forward in time with the hands of a girl,
And met yourself, all lined and scarred: you came through like a friend.

RACING HEART

When I get overwhelmed and wound up tight,
All fit-to-burst hyperventilation,
It’s hard to calm down, try hard as I might,
But, turning to excitement can be done.

I can pull something else to the focus:
A thought that feels good to anticipate,
Like a warm bowl of soup with crusty bread
After a commute through buckets of rain. 

If reaching for my ease is just too hard,
The energy can be transformed, inside.
When I cannot slow down my racing heart,
I do not have to go seek out a fight. 

What is concrete and real is what is true. 
I came here to be absolute with you.

THE SUN AT YOUR BIRTH

Hey, winter wind, would you blow the raw need out of my heart?
It’s brisk when you get going, especially after dark. 

Cultures develop vocabulary for what they know:
I have so many words to tell the winter winds apart. 

Grin big, with teeth like blazing sunshine, pearls before the pigs.
You’ll get your share of bacon, no need to gain a head start. 

(Remember, next time you feel overwhelmed: it takes a while,
You need about a week to settle down your racing heart.)

How does a person choose a favorite color from them all,
When leaves are always changing, and the sky’s both soft and sharp?

Let those muscles shudder when they recall a winter gust.
Holding back, keeping still: excellent ways to fall apart. 

Lizzy, the wind told me that your real name is Eliza:
The sun had not yet risen at your birth, it was still dark.