Lioness.

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This is the worst poem ever written. Or at least it’s in the running.

First, it won’t rhyme. Like at all. It has the elegance of a baby dear learning to walk. But it needs to be written. It is inside me and I need it to be extracted. I need to place my pile of sentiment on the sidewalk for ya’ll to see.

She is breath. If god breathed creation, if god’s very name is YHWH (the sound of vocal vibrato). If sound has the power to move matter. If communication is the nation of the humane. That which sets us a part from Angels and Animals. Art, as creation, as vibration, as communication. To share and be shared. To admit to being born in the middle of communion. A group of people already breathing, GAVE YOU BREATH. God through his people, gave you life. Gave you communion.

And my group just received a Lioness. My Lioness. There is a level of kindness and unaffected grace that can stand one straight up and demand your eye. I’m stupefied. Dazed. I’m acting and feeling as I never have before.

None of these things are certain. Nothing in life is. But a silver lining vibrates when a Lioness joins our blood.

Blood.

A woman’s blood is a part of the cyclic cosmic order. Male apes worship at their feet and fondle themselves. We are held captive by their presence and run from God watching through her eyes. I wish to be broken and bloody in her mouth. I wish her to taste the salt of my blood which will drain down her throat and join her blood.

Dirt.

But this is dirt as much as blood. Her earth is tangible and fragrant. It smells of shit and rebirth. It is fertile and necessary to sustain the group. Her earth is our gift and we desecrate it. Yet she loves us through our fumbling and continues to direct god’s gaze at the nation of Israel. WE ARE HER ISRAEL. AND SHE IS MY LIONESS.

Return to me oh Lioness. Remain in you oh Lioness. God’s vision through you oh Lioness. Oh Lioness

Our Lioness.