The Call

As i call along the shore,

For the things I have lost

I am met with eagle screech,

Ocean lap and wind song.

I am reaching, with salty taste,

and crab claw grasp toward

the things I can call my own.

On the perch, stands a tree

long since forever knowing it's place among things.

The Grandmother soothes me

roots deep, branches spread wide

with all it is. 

Yet, it is only inspiration.

For what it is, I am not,

and striving for it would only

leave me lost amongst myself again.

I want to cling, and dress in her clothes,

Perhaps my green envy will

camoflauge me here, render me invisible,

from the real work that is calling me,

searching for me along the driftwood landscape.

Instead, I undress and lay

my bareness over the jagged rocks nearby, 

getting use to their hard edges 

which beckon me to soften my own,

soften into ease of my own form.

I lay bare in the sand, 

trusting the hold, that my life can feel like this,

scintillated touch from every grain,

erupting pleasure through my whole being,

and a steady drum heartbeat, 

and voice from the gulls sings to me,

soften to the surrender 

of who you are

let her form become sandcastles 

for your own soul to inhabit. "

-Artemis Mandala