Panchakarma, Day 27


Watching the rise and fall

of my delicate

internal empire,

James sits on the bed

while I wail.

Each passing hour

becomes a private storm

of old, buried thunder

let loose to rattle the bed frame

and latches

of my mind.

He gently watches,

weathering the gail of

uncatalogued memories

flung out into the yard

coverend in pounding hail.

Branches whip over wires

and fold a deep bow

to the soil.

Window glass cracks

basement floods

and the lights

I once knew,

blink out.

We have been whittled down again.

Gee ­ the wild cat

ayurvedic oil medicine

rips through the rings of my lifetime

with each drag of her

giant clawed paw

down the trunk of me,

a motionless

jungle tree.

mountainous river rocks

extend thick arms

to collect all the grief

I’ve ever held,

in a suspended, twisting pool.

I am the diver, the witness

taken under.

I am not the woman

who arrived from new york

a month ago, floating through winter.

I am not that woman.

I have removed

old coats of my mother

worn shoes

of who I thought i had become.

Now barefoot


clawed awake.

I am the mantra.

The mantra used to call God

who’s soft breath

over the last remaining ember,

calls it back to life,

dispels darkness.

The mantra the illuminates

Father Sky

in my fresh heart.

A newborn fire child

to rest in the arms

of the divine

and forgiving

Mother Earth.