Orchids

03/10/2017

 

 

I.
Fluttery opalescent moth wings

orbit my Light. Strong North Dakota

winds remind me to stay humbled.

Jolted awake,

Silence––

 

The stillness of Joy

Absence of incarnation

Cessation of all desires

awaits remembrance.

Although my eyes saw
the first sunrise, my heart

remembers the Harvest. Seeds

root themselves in fecund

soil. Seeds grow in

                         Silence. 

 

Orchids, equanimous

and upright, open their fuchsia arms.

With their subtle grin, they hum––

 

Strong souls,

                      Rebloom.    

 

Never doubt your propensity

to radiate boundless Light.

When you see a moth,

Spirit is near you. Stand tall.

Erect.                   Illuminate

your decipherment of what is True:

You are worthy of love.  

 

You

are more than

locked bedroom doors

screaming into pillows

signed executive orders

confederate lies sputtering

“you don’t belong here.”

 

Your

blood fertilizes this Land.

Our Land/ I give birth to. 

 

You
are more than
crying on cold bathroom tile floors

policy governing uteri 

treacherous red-tie speeches

military missiles/ drones

bullets erupting arteries

bombs bulldozing your home. 

 

You

are more than

clenched fists/ spray canned “die pigs”

tear gas defiling your lungs

shattered bank windows

masked faces/ rifles, black combat
boots splitting faces on asphalt.

More than borders

              More than skin. 

 

You

are whole.                         Complete.  

 

 (II.)

Complete

like impermeable heat

Feel Spirit’s long-lasting embrace

The embryonic rhythm of life

                You are immortal. 

 

In your mind, serpents hiss––

you are hopeless, helpless,

nothing more than the incest.

Believe you are nothing.

Believe you are powerless,

wallowing in an empty riverbed

with a worn noose tied around your neck.

 

But remember, Strong souls

Your tears/ shackles created by someone

Else’s fears, flood your cavern with

inflammable oily water. Purify.

Keep your lungs and heart open.

Relax your spine. Stretch

                                                     your groin. 

Today’s march was yesterday’s frontline.

Tomorrow is another struggle. 

Your faith turns limestone to loaves of bread

Your faith walks on water.

 

 

 

Thea Matthews is a BlXicana womxn feminist, born and raised in San Francisco, CA. She is a spoken word artist, survivor of sexual violence; and she often refers to herself as a poetivist (poet + activist). She has a WordPress (theamariematthews.wordpress.com) and a SoundCloud (soundcloud.com/theammatthews).

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