To all my relations (a poem about my incarnations)
I sing my memory first to my fellow shiny beings from our murmuration,
who flew with me over the newborn Mother Earth, so many million years ago, in constellation, like one single being.
We knew no I, no you, only the perfect, shared impulse.
And this loneliness that haunts me is not mine, but ours, the hollow echo in the air where our heart once beat.
Then, I was put in an angel’s suit—
way too big, comically bright.
My only job was to make one child laugh.
And I did.
That laugh taught me what a human form could be.
Then, a wiser hand took over.
A woman from a tribe so old,
she knew how to rewrite a soul.
In her scripts, I also found you.
I heard the punchline of the universe:
That two was just a slow way of counting to One. I loved our first life together.
I lost you during a short life of a girl in a time of wars.
A frightened child in a new, old body.
A girl with parents more scared of their own light than of death.
I brought the fear into this world and life, again with parents trembling at their own light.
And here I am.
Now I kneel and press my ear to the ground,
And laugh! For our Mother’s heart still drums a wild, green rhythm.
I remember her youth—a fluffy, hot-headed dream,
and praise her changing nature,
her patient art of catastrophe and bloom
that made her ever more beautiful.
I am grateful for you, sitting beside me again.
For the memories that bloom between us like a spring.
For our children, who shine without apology.
With friends, old and new, I hear Destiny so close I could kiss her cheek.
And- I am grateful for this longing in my heart.
It is the quiet compass that points me back to my first, my only home:
that shimmering flock, a sound of a million beings moving as one light.
It is not a sound I hear with my ears,
but an old song I feel in my soul—
the silent, collective beat of a flight
that now flies only within.
Or- maybe we never stopped flying.
Maybe we just learned to do it while wearing feet.