Image

Image

Clean


Clean

A monster made of wind chases me
A twister brought about by parasites
blown together lies and half truths
catch my loves and I by a breeze
and turn upon us as a storm

The black dirt of words burned clings to me
I choke on air I've never spoken
Soiled in mud by rain I alone did not call
Dodging thunder and lightening from those who stole my sparks
to stoke their fires

I return to the Mother of my bones
Where the earth flows red as my blood
Where the only barrier is blue
Where the fields and my eyes share green
and where my ancestors are all that whispers on the wind

The Mother's gift is always there
and I wash away the filth of a lifetime's travel
stories under my nails
exaggerations stuck between my fingers
pictures tangled in my hair
all that I have done and not done
trapped in my pores

My soul learns the lessons of the sand then lets it go
My mind now crisp as air
My body clear as water
My spirit high as an ancient monolith

I am home

I am clean

December 15, 2002
Tressa Lee Breen

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