Month: January 2024

postpartum

On By k.t.In Alchemy, Aurum, Birth, Crone, Cronehood, Feminine, grandmother, kin, maiden, maternity, Mother, Poem, poetry, Sacred Feminine, symbiosity, womb, women, WomenfolkLeave a comment

fetal cells
remain in a mother’s body for decades
they know this
particularly
because of mothers of sons

son cells discovered
co-mingling in their mother’s
blood
and marrow
long after their first breaths of atmosphere
and for far too many mothers,
long after their child’s last

we mothers, in-secret chimeras
29, 50,
years after birthing /

no wonder

he breathes
1,191.582 miles away from me

as the crow flies,
as the monarch flies
as the hummingbird flies

and still, i feel the cells of gold i alchemized

for 42 strange, wondrous weeks

in my crone bones

postpartum is forever

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goldilocks’ zone

On By k.t.In climate, Climate Chaos, Climate Collapse, Earth hospice, Earthling, earthlings, Hospice, Near Term Human Extinction, Poem, poetry, Sixth Mass Extinction, symbiosityLeave a comment

the widespread muck,
usual to late March
now spoils the January, the December too

there are no more
seasons,

only drownt
or parched

what use
is axial tilt, solar distance
while men
lock-up the thermostat and disarrange the elements

Continue reading “goldilocks’ zone” →

& answered

On By k.t.In PoemLeave a comment

the kind of god who made
a predator, at all
a carnivore, at all
and worst, of all

a two-legged omnivore
that must char his stone-killed and -cut meat over flinted fire
to choke it down his gullet,
that cloaks himself in the hide and fur and skin and silk of killed, dead things,
that rises in the morning to mine forests, coal, ore, and ancient dead things
to form and forge steel
for his sole animus

theft, consumption and death

of land, women and children,

that’s who.

preparation

On By k.t.In agraria, bucolia, climate, Climate Collapse, Crone, crone chronicles, Crone Consciousness, Cronehood, dirt road chronicles, Earthling, ecocide, Genocide, goodbye city life, inner city, outer rural, Palestine, planetary hospice, Poem, poetry, ruralia, Winter, WomenfolkLeave a comment

she counted propane canisters
for her two Mr. Heaters
put batteries in her camp lanterns — circa 2004,
set out votive and prayer candles, matches and lighters,

worked past midnight
to empty, wash, fill or refill glass wine bottles with water for drinking, teeth-brushing, cooking

that is the advantage of the white wine screw cap bottles
p.s. VOGA pinot grigio is unrivaled for this use
she’s saved them over the months for this sole purpose, those Italians sure know what they’re doin’

she rotated supply: filled buckets with the previously stored precious water,
placed them in the bathtubs for toilet flushing
and in Igloo jugs
for hand and face washing
& dishwashing

(and, hoe baths too)

this beautiful welled water, pumped from 75 feet below the surface, 10 feet of clay and 65 of sand, her friend once researched county well drill permit records for her.

she made a pot of marinara, boiled 3 lbs of potatoes, planned for pancakes, printed out dutch oven bread recipes,

she set out the dog’s paw wax and his wardrobe of coats,

she refreshed her vintage wool blankets on low heat with honeysuckle-infused dryer sheets,

found her favorite j. crew wool men’s sweater, moss green — circa 1999, which reminded: she best learn some knitting – for repairs and darning, at the very least, the cuff seam is unraveling, but, my god, it’s so warm.

she filled all the bird feeders before sunset, although she’s spotted deer at them at twilight and midnight — using their tongues to excavate the seed,

she set the snow shovel and outdoor broom just outside, beside her back door

all this,

just in case

freezing lines and tree limbs knock the power out

and Lake Effect drifts become temporarily insurmountable

she’s always prepared, she always knows what to do

or can generally figure it out, figure a way out of it – without GPS

except:

what to do in

a genocide and in climate collapse.

Continue reading “preparation” →

“wolf”

On By k.t.In Anubis, Death, Justice, Life and Death, Poem, poetry, the old godsLeave a comment

she cries wolf so often
that it becomes tempting to ignore

yet the wolf was always nearby
persistent, knocking at their door

the wolf is curled up at her feet now
you see, he’s not the same violent beast,

this wolf is not the hungry one
he doesn’t want her for his feast

Anubis is this wolf’s name
and he waits to duly weigh her heart

on the golden scales
he’s balanced with a starred badge and a glock

just for her, just this once,
in lieu of the Feather of Ma’at

for all mothers whose children were, and will be murdered by the State