A Necessary Death

The poem I just posted is inspired by a fantastic book I am reading called “Women Who Run With The Wolves” by Clarissa Pinkola Estés.  It is truly a word from Mama for me right now.

As I was reading her take on the Inuit myth of “Skeleton Woman”, it hit me like a ton of bricks…I have been keeping certain relationships alive with heart-blood and it has changed those relationships into parasites…instead I should be feeding them with the tears of true grieving that accompanies a proper death and thus cleanse the heart and free the soul, diminished but restored and purified.

It is clear that these were flawed, defective and tragic relationships.  Blame has been laid…and I have none to lay, so therefore I can easily receive all blame for all factors and choices…because then I can get it into one place and just let it die.  Skeleton Woman is that force which brings the necessary death of something so that new life can come forth.  Jesus Himself said that unless we lose our life we cannot save it, unless a grain of wheat fall into the ground and die it cannot bring forth any fruit but will be alone.

They are dead, and I am not cutting my heart any more…there is no expiation able, or even needed…there is no act that I could perform that would result in restoring what was to what it never was.

The only way forward is to let them die.

Diminished and free…and knowing there is another chapter in this story which can now commence.tumblr_nv4kuyubnO1s5neh1o1_1280

Skeleton Woman Come

skeleton woman, you have come
surfaced with hue and cry and thrum
and waters heaving, rising scum
and dead bones clicking and clacking
clikkity-knuckles wrapping and long
dragging in waters where your white hair
stays wet, stays living and ready to tenderly
wrap what it is you have come near to usher
into the womb-waiting death.i have hooked you, and you me,
and i have done with running away.
here…my tears for your bony tongue
drink and be filled, i ask only one thing:

that you be tender, be gentle
take them now, see the rot?
the decay, the deformities, have pity
in your mercies bury them slow
and let your waters feed them
to the seaweed and the fishes

and if you deem it good
and resurrection come to them
may it be ever in the rising of the sun
across the frozen waves
within the shell-pink dawn

That Someday Purge

it’s been
quite a while
since i jammed
my fingers
down my throat,
nails scraping soft
tender tissues,
ripping them
into ragged
ribbons of

agony and sweet relief.

i really
don’t know
why i did that
all those years.
i cannot even
find the impulse,
the compulsion
to expiate myself
and purge me
of that void.

but now
i think
we live
in times
of cultural

and we
binge on self
purge in guilt
bathe in shame
call it freedom.

we’ll live
a life of
being not doing
or consuming

and our throats
will heal
and our song
will be sung