In infinity, I would call out her ten thousand names, but here she is the one you call Doll. At 97, on your hospital bed, you see her inside out, golden light in bluegreen eyes limpid as clear water. She sits with you, asks if there was anything you are afraid of. She wants me to hear you say those words as I sit at the base of the closet where you store your shoes and pink styrofoam booties. She knows I need ground and steps into the places I cant inhabit. I’ve become careful and quiet around you here: my own heartbeat gives off an electric charge, shakes up densities around me.
In her wicked space, I tell you, I became pure. From the deck of her ship docked at the edge of the Pacific, I sat on a sky blue mat and shifted sundial slow. There was a time I turned my back , cooked even in my rhinoceros skin the taupe I’ve been drawn to, shade neutral as if I could disappear into the earth. She recommended tortoise slow and when she was gone, I occupied her space a naked angel born, peering into my vagina on her mat. I spread my legs to the sky, inhabited Baby, releasing the density of stored emotions into air so charged with ions from ocean and sky that I couldn’t beat myself into submission, could only dance with the sun motes on the warming green of spring ground.
Just as the sun set, she entered her turret with sun warm and turns on the lighthouse with just one switch. She slid into my bubble with a glass of honey bourbon ad listened to my secrets, petted me down and woke me up out of a leopard sleep, calling me to play in the night. Her puppet dance of the divine I couldn’t refuse. Fire and ground, air and water, she circled around sorrow in yellow pants. When she released me, I had my own spud hum, a new one with eyes everywhere on my head. I woke to my own acadian rhythm, making space in her fuzzy cave, more aiir more light!
She sent me packing to do some Jesus work and I found my way to a labyrinth where I gave up and joined in, dancing yoga in the afternoon bright. I let go in crow and came back to this planet. I turned my back on the sun to be with her in a cloistered sanctuary, did warrior in tandem and eagle in flight. Near her, I samurai my own passions but that dark space had me gasping and, my habit, I bolted, wild horse out of her quiet corral. Uber worried, I succumbed to my own fear. She guided me out with her voice to the Om mobile, succored me with bourdon and laughter, listened to my voice for the to find you just here, where we left you last, on the translucent edge of consciousness, waking for our presents of force and warmth. She kissed you goodbye yet again and was gone girl flying back in the taillights of devils past the city of angels to report for duty.
She has been my guide to your side,. And so I kneel in thanks at this backlit page, my altar of understanding, playing a piece to harmonize with your final resetting.
Time for sleep now. Taps played. God is nigh.
In specter, mages of my niece’s yoga practice intensified in hue are juxtaposed with music and poetry to send her on her journey to Thailand.