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Author Archives: lbk
Bhuvaneshwari
I found the small bottle in a scattering on the ground, flung from a bursting of luggage. It had a round bulb body that I cupped my palm around, curling my hand to make it small enough to support the … Continue reading
the sky descending
I go to the Wellspring. Everything is dark and still. That golden light glows from her core, the sacral bowl, she holds it, contained. All around is dark and still, iced over. A little ways off, Telling combs her own … Continue reading
Posted in here the solstice found me
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hold nothing
I go to the wellspring. It is not easy. I have been encased in ice, glacial, that pressure, huge, those forces of immobility meeting at the point where I am, my breast bone, shoulders, belly, spine. I have been still, … Continue reading
Posted in she calls me by my name
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immovable
I am in the wood, among the trees, the thin bright aspen, white as bone. I am standing smack up against a tree, like it’s a wall I’ve run into. Forehead, chest, belly – all the hot and the soft … Continue reading
Posted in come home to this
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don’t fly off
I am standing in the basement with two men who have come to help. The dirt floor has gone to mud. We are all looking down. Something is stuck and will not flow. The men agree they’re going to have … Continue reading
Posted in in the house of my grandmother
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all the words unhomed
I am so glad to be here. I am weeping. Tears jewel my hair. I know that I am beautiful. I know that I am. I am draped in midnight blue. The drape of it flows off behind me, infinitely. … Continue reading
Posted in the light that opens in the dusk
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medicine woman
I am underwater. It is black and deep. I lie horizontal just below the surface. There is struggle in my stillness. The surface of the water is covered in a kind of skin like black rubber. I cannot push through … Continue reading
Lest you think I have forgotten
Sometimes I think I have lost my tongue. But it isn’t that. I have journeyed so deep into unknown territory, so far out into the world and the real, where everything is strange and wonderful, quick and momentous; I don’t … Continue reading
Posted in long gone walking
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return
The rider comes on through the gathering dark, leaning into the cold, horse and rider both blowing steam, hoof-fall on hard ground setting a complex beat that wakes and lulls and wakes again. There is wind in the trees, blacker … Continue reading
nothing more to be done
She is small and her coat is black. The sky is low and white. She is alone in the woods. Her coat is black and her stockings are black and her boots are black too. Her hands curl into themselves … Continue reading
Posted in the way runs out in winter woods
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