A meditation in April

The Aborigine, 
Gus, who goes by the name of place that knows no name,
he brought me here.

no face
no fear
no attachment
no then
no that
 
Feel pulled as an ocean that left salt
moving topaz blue
deposits in remembrance on shins and elbows,
lied down during the forest,
buffalo grass smells like aloe and donkey tail cactus
hoarding water to comfort itchy skin
talking to my back.
Rabbits wonder why the squirrels stare at me
flow does the river where only the channel catfish know my name
as I swim.
Given back to the boomerang
scented by the spring lilac that hid me until summer tiger lilies dismounted
from the backs of lightening bugs.

I stood facing her, 
the deer whistled to come home
It was time to make the dance of bear.

A thump and pain made me human
physical in place that had no words
It must thump and pump
So the liver must focus
transporting the voice I have become.

– Rachelle Bose

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