Tag: chakras

Zip your legs together, which form your sapling trunk,
While naked heels and toes push into the carpet.
Gather living green things, like a scrape of moss
Or spade-shaped grasses. Collect a cupful of earth
And fill your glass bowl terrarium.
Consider.
Paint a stone, a shell, a pebble, a seed
With your grandmother’s clear nail polish, and
Tap on it like a turtle drum.
Fish your red sweater from the cedar chest,
Pull its sleeves over your palms.
Survive.
Slide a metal spoon over the ball of your foot,
Envy its frank coldness, then thank it all the same.

Enter dialogue with that which is ineffable, intangible,
Interloping, such as a dog, a toddler, or God.
Take notes on what is said, with words or symbols,
Purple ink a bonus.
Say “yes” to travel.
Lay your head down, purposefully, then draw a line
With your nose that looks past the ceiling,
Past the shingles on the roof.
This will be the outbound, and also the return.
Form a cardboard box behind your brows
Into which you sweep that monstrous memory.
(You know the one. Yes. That one.)
Fold its flaps, tape them down.
Loose what’s left upon the world.