1.
The earth draws me
sings me
caresses me
through the hands of a woman
unknown yet remembered
in this body
where as a young child
she reached out to me
and came in.

2.
With the evening thrush
I sing a prayer to you
as you call to me in the dark night
as you call to me through the shattering of breath
as you call to me through the mourning of blood
as you call to me
til I find you here
in this living I have been given.

3.
The blood red screams
are not only mine.
I am neither the end
nor the beginning
but one among many
carrying stories
unworded
lives unacknowledged
violences unspoken

from which I no longer run.

4.
I need no stories
other than those that come
from you
those that rise
in me
weaving us together
with knowledge and questions.

5.
Like the young child
searching through the night
I do not give up.
Your stories
call me in
call me out
call me to remember
and I will.
And I do.