nanowrimo madness

by el

Circle moon.
Trees reach for sky secrets.
Mountains fold into dark valleys.
I used to sneak out in moonlight,
dark and shadow less scary than my room.
A fey child,
I sat beneath a pine,
its lowered branches my circle of protection.
No one could find me here.
No one knew my secret place.
Pungent dirt.
Pine smell.
Rough bark.
Sap jelled on a branch,
twisted by someone who didn’t know trees bleed too.
Earth, twigs, stones caress my feet.
Safe for now, hidden by medicine things.
Childhood’s magic spread at my feet,
Feathers,
bits of glass worn smooth by the ocean,
stones worn smooth by my hand.
I slept, my cheek against the tree,
bark imprinting my cheek,
tree wisdom imprinting my brain.
Became one, two, three, and me.
A circle of protection no matter what the need.
No more stone heart.
No tears.
Handing off the burden of breathing,
Knowing,
needing,
caring.
The world contracts
A child is abused in dark moments stolen from daylight.
Inside, sunlight and laughter, a child never seen.
“I just don’t know what’s wrong with her!
She’s so shy, quiet, backward.....”
Whispered conferences, worried looks, hasty assurances.
A conspiracy of pretended concern deflects guilt.
I sat silent in the grass watching
sunlight on my arms,
ants on my toes.
There was no language for it,
only silence,
only yearning.

© 2004 M. S. Eliot