Fall thoughts for poetry —random language

as I turn 52 this month I’ve been thinking about menopause a bit….I skipped this month….my eggs are no longer plentiful…..yet my desire to couple does not cease….Sex really is far beyond procreative meaning…..I will miss the power of blood when I reach the point of becoming Crone…..but this understanding of being a woman who is magical surpasses the womb…..a poem is coming to the surface……

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connection

here
attached and breathing
in rhythm with you
every tear you withhold
i shed
such it is as one
connected
like vines pulsing
i send you honey and prayer
healing and sweetness
may we both have
drinking the nectar
of love and life

Mattering

doesn’t seem a big deal
your language and ideas
feeding someone who seeks
to starve you
to isolate you
to erase you
until you recognize
that the engineer of your destruction
looks and sounds like you
that is black respectability politics
at its worst
when your work does not count
until it no longer belongs to you
until it no longer represents you.

Repeat

watching the final show
or how much every single day
should be named the final show
set on repeat
except no one else remembers
yesterday
much less the last year or decade
same results with ourselves
same results with our people
no matter how we claim a vision
we end up going back
to the final show
to the cliffhanger unanswered
to the new season that
repeats from season one
such is life in 2018
reality tv on infinite repeat