I found this in one of my notebooks. I like to practice writing with my left hand and I will do it sometimes when my carpal tunnel acts up.
*on the photo reads
Where is the poem
in the words written with
your non-dominant hand?
Maybe it’s in all the wrong
spaces. Or maybe it’s in the
learning to write again.
Thalassa, the daughter of Hmera
her depths unexplored
her secrets unconquered
she has conquered the world
explored our inner depths
we ‘re all Thalassa’s daughters
definitions from Greek to English
θάλασσα, thalassa: sea
ημέρα, hmera: day
The Future Fire published one of my beloved works “Daughter”. It’s a poem about women and earth, the women on earth and the earth in women .
Cécile Matthey has created a wonderful illustration for this poem, and I hope you read it and enjoy both.
“If I was a dandelion and the wind blew me away
and
I
was
scattered,
would you follow me?”
“I would.”
“But how would you find me?”
“I don’t know. But that’s not the point, is it?”
“Then what is?”
“I’m the wind.”
‘
You purr when I love you with my hands,
did you know?
A sound like a storm inside your chest,
where contentment and pleasure battle to rip your skin,
and bloom from your mouth,
and the only reason they stay inside
is your stubbornness,
and the promise of sleep,
and maybe my arms around you.
You purr and my bones mend,
did you know?
We meet in the middle.
The lavender field bursts with quiet.
The book in my hands a relic
of my imagination and my once-found peace
The dirt on your cheeks confesses
long hours of work.
Your shirt isn’t tucked in your pants.
As the sky loses its boundaries with the lavender blossoms
and the blush on your ears pulls me closer,
I think back on that scene I read earlier in the train.
About the woman that was searching for
her soul at the roots of the riverside trees.
I wonder if she found it,
like I found you.