Bones

I am sitting on a plane
Listening to Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott
Instructions on writing
Turns out the big secret is…
You have to write
Not just listen to books about how to write
So here I am

This seems to be a running theme for me
Embodiment is tricky
Making a plan. Writing a list. Reading a book.
These things come easy
Doing the thing does not

I ponder why
And think it has something to do with trust
Trusting myself to be
Trusting that what I create is true and real
That it won’t destroy
Because I don’t want that

Actually that’s a lie
I think I do want to destroy
Because sometimes destruction is the only way creation can come into form

I want to air it all out
Until a spark catches
And burns it all down
Then lay out the corpse
Until it is picked clean
To the bone
The bright, white, bone

Bones are beautiful
And we never get to see them
By design they are hidden
Why should the strongest thing be hidden

Let’s parade our bones around town
Like it is Day of the Dead
And all of our ancestors have come out to play

They will delight in the fires we burn
And dance in the ashes
Smear them on their cheekbones
Like war paint
Like face paint
At a children’s party
Stars and moons and runes
To mark the day
The day we turned our insides out
And were forged in the fire