She was awakened
by the clanging of words,
like broken bells~
the truth of the Lie
smacking her square in the face.
I have heard that Thirty can do that to a girl-
turn her inside out,
and into a writhing, grimacing, screaming
This, a tricky tightrope to walk
when your name is Mommy.
But walk it she did;
teetering, tottering, frittering away
the ordinary moments.
Divinity dictating dailiness.
Poems pulsing. Eros shut away
in some yet-unopened cupboard.
Kneeling nuns and gyrating gypsies
paused for tea and conversation
and conservation of energy and expectation,
mastering delayed gratification…
While waking from death is a difficult bit,
resurrection from the roused seems a redundant disaster~
happens faster by necessity, and clocks
I have heard Forty can do that to a woman;
turn her upside down, undoing
all she worked so hard to keep
tightly bound and silent.
It’s an enthralling fall to earth;
this giving birth to oneself midlife,
half-life, one’s own midwife.
The blood on your hands is a dead giveaway
that you are not indeed dead after all~
having survived the fall,
survived the fall.
Eve survives the fall
and is renamed,
Our guest blogger is Cheryl Anne. She is a Poet, Spiritual Director of Sheltering Oak, and a founding member of Shekhinah Grove Women’s Circle. An Imagine A Woman (IAW International) trainee and passionate advocate of Authenticity; she resides in the lovely town of Franklin, Tennessee.