Whirling through quiet depths
I am the medicine in the lights.

My medicine comes up for air,
out of the silt in a pointed stone,

Out of the sand on the ocean floor
then remedies rise like bubbles.

And peace lies in the velvet emptiness
that I love too much above and below.

I am the still places arising from the black
of the heart, of the heat, of the hearth.

I hold my medicine inside the entrance
to the ocean’s depth below where trees

Are disappointed, where earth is oppressed,
where reflection of the water seeps through.

I take all I have ever abandoned, exiled,
interrupted from the darkness inside.

I swallow the parts of my body, gulping
into the cold wet recess, the dreams

Of bound feet embroidered in gold and
orange, of thighs lost in pink blue sunset.

I welcome the grey tongues of the elders
whose earthy wombs drowned my fears.

I stifle their cries so medicine can allow
that which is not yet born, not yet met,

Not yet finished. Their cries will never
fall away. My medicine is here to lure,

To lull, then enfold them in my endless
lap. I go eager to lose my waywardness.