I leave my blood on the ground on dead leaves fallen from fall trees crimson droplets plump war stories through my body my blood from my body on earth's body wound rests sword lays down morning fresh with fog warms from the glow of the rising sun a web of frost melts the dawn after … Continue reading Planting seeds
poetry
Forgiveness
the trees don't judge me the way you do pinning me down to outdated impressions the trees don't scrutinize me the way you do seeing me through a lens that only fits you the trees see me in a way you don't they don't hold on to old stories they bury them like roots in … Continue reading Forgiveness
Answers
Ancient rocks, ancient like glaciation, tumbled through centuries and through time, and etched their way into the earth. The wind sounded like water, like waves, pushing though leaves of the highest trees, waving above and so below, all around me. A bird repeated a stanza, its song hollow, echoing. you give me steps to climb … Continue reading Answers
New spaces
I remind myself you live in my body. My right palm placed above my left breast, on my chest where your love lives you bring me back into my body I used to avoid these spaces, the places my body blocked itself locked itself from feeling "She keeps her head in the clouds", they said … Continue reading New spaces
Patience
The meadow was talking about it, I could tell... stalks and seeds facing one another, united, talking amongst themselves. I said it again in case they didn't hear me I am a masterpiece, a work of art They whispered this time to one another as I wait for a response I continue to talk out … Continue reading Patience
When he comes home
The sound of dry leaves blowing in light wind tricked me into thinking he was coming up behind me even though I knew he was still taking steps across ancient terrain, across the shield. His horse, painted belly, spots of white nuzzling his head in my palms every time he saw me and me, always … Continue reading When he comes home
What the wind wants
What the wind wants ties me to spirit, brushing past my ears she takes me aside wrapping my shoulders in a shawl, yarn spun with cloud, she cooes towards me "show them", you have something they want." wondering through air, kicking up dirt, I ask the trees for advice what must I do for the … Continue reading What the wind wants
Lingering in snow
A twig fell from the tree shaped like a pen I wrote in the snow drawing lines with my voice the network of roots below the frozen ground mirrored the myriad of crisscross connections above my head disconnecting from the wires that bind us I find myself lingering under the snow drops I stick out … Continue reading Lingering in snow
In the dark
Biting wolves take their meat when they can get it make no apologies. Carnivores of the woods devour the scent my shadow brings. To the fertile dark I ask what of my anger? and gnash my teeth against the blackness. To my ears she whispers take an oath to trust the shivers and the quivers … Continue reading In the dark
Fall
Fall towards yourself look inward dark comes earlier. Fall behind who cares take more time slow down step into yourself. Bones chilled fingers numb head in hat sit with the world around you. Fall over no one is watching pick yourself back up lace up your boots tell it to the squirrels, cows, chickadees, a … Continue reading Fall
Made of ink
Writing is in my bones my platelets made of words. I write with the pens that are my fingers waving sigils in the air. I write with the pens that are my fingers; each finger long bones hollowed out the ink flows through inspired by the guidance by the stories my body holds.
Bone writing
Fingers like twisted branches reach for a pen to write about the lines that fold around her gnarled knuckles dry with age from holding onto stories too long her forearms rest heavy on the smooth white pages of bark as she writes her story with ink made of dirt; lines of language.
Angela Mason 