(after mary oliver)

once more with feeling:

[bellowing] you do not have to be good

oh hark! there they go again
come spring, come summer’s end
the geese –
calling your belonging again and again. you do not believe them? is that not your breast, tattooed?

my love, you may stop trying.
stop trying.
the matter is settled. it always was.
be at peace.


you, who sings over the bones
you, the dancer, unsettling herself
you, the witch, the cynic, the herbalist, the hermit
you, the mountains and the rivers, the sun and the pebbles of rain
you, high as a kite in the pale, clear yonder
you, face down in the stinking black peat
you, contradictory, inappropriate, brave
you, a true friend
to a chosen few
you, a demon who dines on fakery, laughs,
makes mythic mountains of her shit

you: artist, lover, warrior, maker of soup,

far beyond ‘good’ and ‘bad’: you
the soft animal of your body,
loving what it loves.

11th december, cwmrheidol, making soup