Anchored

Anchored, I am tethered
Marionette strings,
I dangle
Abyss below
Eyes close
I am air
I am breath
Breathe.

Anchored, I am suspended,
weightless
The world rolling off my shoulders
The phantom planet tumbling
As heavy gusts lift me
Where memories fall soft upon your skin like snowflakes
Like warm rain.

Anchored, I am free
to roam and wander
to hold hands with spontaneity
I am exploration
Unmarked territory
Open space.

Anchored, I am
Silent.
I am lights off and shapes of shadow
I am arms wrapped tight around thoughts
I am a reminder
I am resurfacing and adaptation.

Anchored, I am
Safe in my skin
I am black and white
wooden frame on a wall
Circa 1983
Head falling back
Party dress
Feet almost touching the sky
I swing
Soft wind in my hair
Sailing through time on a tire swing…

Anchored, I am
That moment
That minute where gravity escapes me
and gently brings me down again
A slow, determined pull.
That kind of freedom,
Pine trees and blue sky.

Anchored, I am
limber,
arms and legs swaying
I am alive in these spaces
These random pauses
Between the love and the lonely
Between chaos and sleep
The flashes your brain captures
Snapshots.
Filmstrips.
A glass jar of stories mingling
Whispering eternally.

Anchored, I am
bone and flesh
heartbeat and fingertips
molecules and ribs
synapses,
muscle memory
I am tooth and nail
Involuntary electricity.

**(inspired by writing prompts from http://jenaschwartz.com/writing-groups/ )

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Equinox

Those thin lines between worlds, they hang like a veil, like a heavy gravitational pull. No borders between skin and air. Winds that wrap around trees like silk, turning branches and leaves to watercolors, ebbing and flowing.

A midnight veil, dividing day and night, as summer melts into autumn. Metallic air tasting like copper, brass, gold hanging under the silver moon, the platinum stars.

The midnight geese are calling, their trumpets echo, a symphonic rustling of leaves somersaulting, chasing time in the streets.

The cool air of dusk and dark enters through the window, like tendrils, it crawls along my neck and down my arms. It tells stories of migration, of black feathers meeting black sky, of synchronous wings beating, of spirits riding currents, joining the flock in unison, the trumpeters sing, “I’m coming home, I’m coming home”

To lay their heads down, the lost souls that touch my face, that take refuge in my heart, that settle themselves in the empty space of my bed. Let sleeping spirits lie, stretch their mouths and memories.

No borders between worlds, surrendered to the crevices between. The midnight geese, they call my name. The wild wind, she whispers…

Come home. Like the ghosts that guard the night, the ones who change the clocks and paint the seasons. When the dark arts coincide. Come through my window. Spin your worldly tales.

Where shadows drown the sidewalks and spirits thick like fog can walk among us, enter through us.

Autumnal migrations. You are coming home, to your insides, to your bones and breath. To a softer time of year where life gives way to death. Leaves falling at your feet. You are coming home.

#liberatedlines #liberatedlinesclear #wedontedit#noborders #equinox #autumn #spirits #poetry