It starts slow,
Drop by drop,
Turning
From white to red.
A whisper from the earth
Outside of me
Within me
"I'm here, I'm here"
She knows
I am not ready to let go
Just yet.
I am under the alder tree
Hands on my belly
Staring up at the sky
Feeling the pulse of the earth
And the lifting
Of the veil
Like a piercing in my head.
She sends me
My daughter
We sit in the garden
Us three
Maiden mother
Crone consciousness
Bleeding on the earth
As we sing
Nourishing the flowers
Of our skin
With lavender oil.
"Soften,
Soften,
Daughters.
Let your grief go."
As I start to cry
The river begins to flow.
- Jenny Wren
