8 F Y R E ' B I R D 8

we are beginning to feel autumn bite at our fingertips. it nips at the tips of our ears and tickles the inside of our necks, not yet covered by scarves.   i love autumn. i love this witch bitch, sad boygirl fall. i love when things get colder, leading us to gather warmth around fires, with loved ones, and in our hearts.   my ancestors know something about how to keep and stay warm throughout the winter months. i am thinking of my slavic peoples, who braved beautiful and terrible winters for generations.   there is one in me who is thinking about stocking, taking stock, and preparing for the colder months to come.   i am in a new home. with a new view. i am next to green again, writing with green. is this home perfect? no, but what is. i am learning to let go of my deeply embedded perfectionism that white supremacy and colonialism has taught me. i do not need to be perfect. neither does anything around me .   letting go of this is liberating, and also hard. i

we carve mountains out of our spine because that is how the earth taught us.   the earth taught us some things.   the earth taught us about poetry, about being gentle, about being fierce.   the earth teaches us about time.   about when to express and shine   and when to be hidden and withdraw withdrawing one’s energy into oneself   and becoming darkness is sacred   our world does not remember this   our world is only fruiting and harvesting   there is no awareness of “death” in our world   i want to be an awareness for death in this world