Uncommon Curiosity

Yesterday morning, I woke up with my head full of poetry.  In my dream, someone had told it to me, and I was trying to remember it so I could write it down when I woke up (lately I’ve been so tired I can only dream half-lucidly – I know I’m dreaming but I don’t have much control over what happens.)  I jumped out of bed and typed it out onto the computer screen and then the rest of the poem quickly tumbled out of me.  The feeling of being ripe with words is indescribable, but it’s a little like the feeling of writing with your favorite pen onto your favorite paper – smooth and wet and full and perfect.  I have the distinct feeling this poem came from somewhere outside of me, through me, and that is a feeling of ecstasy like no other.

This poem is about evolution, about returning to the source, but it’s also about longing to be real and getting the strength to come out – as bi or pagan or poly or, in the case of lovers, as trans or genderqueer.  And I’m going to say something dangerous – I really like it.  It expresses itself exactly the way I hoped it would when I started writing it down, and there’s never a guarantee that that will happen.  Writing, and then sharing, poetry is, in itself, a very dangerous, transgressive act…somewhere along the line we’re all taught that poetry is far beyond our reach, and that’s a terrible injustice because poetry is the voice of the soul.  So, if you find something inspiring in these words, please write down a little poetry of your own.  And then share it.  Return to your source and revel in it…the water’s fine.

Becoming

Since the day we were named
we have yearned to return to the fierce, wide blue
Wet dreams of tumbling and floating in ecstasy
before we dragged our ragged selves
up into the sun.

We were fish once, you and I,
slick scales and sharp teeth,
sleek with purpose,
motion bound…
Through nights so black the stars stayed in
and the sky cried out in inky tears,
we’ve imagined ourselves free of these arms and legs
that lie limply at our sides.
At the edge of our ocean, afraid to swim,
we gaze into the deep coolness and think

That is my birthright

But we have forgotten how to dive.
Forgotten to put arms up and chin tucked in
because the impact is hard, it knocks the wind out of you –

it.  will.  hurt.

And no one - no one - can save you from it.
But then -
oh, thank you, Sedna,
You’re in, and the water loves you
like a long-lost skin
The sun sparkles through ripples in the surface -
it isn’t harsh here, swimming in the blue.

And you’ve found your place,
your origin, your birthland.
Tears of joy slip sideways into the sea
as strong fins surge
and you think

I am home.