Bird Woman sits
in the mouth
of the cave.
It is all
jagged stumps
before her.
Vultures are perched
on the tops
of the scrags
fixing her
in their beady eyes.
There are no nightingales
in her world.
It is all stark and bare,
and no soft notes sing.
But when
Sister Wolf howls
in the deep dark
of a lonely midnight,
her heart rises
in response
to her music.
Her head falls back.
From her throat
comes a raw
and piercing cry.
She is keening;
for what
is she keening?
What to do
with this
feeling
of wanting
beyond
brute survival?
She feels the prescience
of Something More
winging on the air,
but does not yet
have a name
for this longing.
[tapped into my Inner Cave Woman
for this one, kids. And she feels pretty darn familiar:)]
