The World Longs for More Poets of the Everyday

Everywhere, Every Day, by Roz Bound The sun begins to climb behind the trees across the fields. Her fire-flares warm my body, stir sleepy bones, soothe waking shadow-cares, spiriting my day. I breathe the morning air. Her windy breath inflates my lungs only to leave again and swirl in ancient life long fed by souls of all eternity, ancestors’ harmony. The tide is high today, its equal level in my body rises, inspires passion, Divine delight to paint, to dance, to write a poem, enchanting gifts to Her through me. Soup bubbles in the pot. I peel carrots, yams, weep over onions, scatter spices, shave ginger root, pour cream. Her fragrance rises in the steam, fills the pot with love. We talk of dreams. Beneath the moon, She’d brought me messages I try to understand too soon. Friends listen, mirror back Her intention-words, Her gentle touch. We walk the labyrinth. Vibrations rise up through my thighs, our bodies one with Hers, one earth, mud, one matter, one Mother, one centre. One life. With midnight-moon, I watch the news. Choosing freedom, women pump their fists in Rome, Afghanistan, in Libya, Tunisia, Bahrain, in Tahrir Square. I see Her there.