My muse

I attended a wonderful workshop on poetry as therapy this weekend with John Fox, author of Poetic Medicine and Finding What You Didn't Lose. In addition to writing some good poems and hearing some great ones, I met a whole new sisterhood of writers. I am so lucky!

Here is one I wrote about my muse.

A heaviness comes
unbidden, unannounced.
A hot breath
on the side of my neck.
A huff, a growl
so low, so tender
so familiar
that my cells turn
as I sleep.
And the dreamtime
turns gold and red.
And the scent of huckleberries
and hot pine pitch
and the coming cave
lie over me like down.
And when I wake,
there is a sharp knowing
at the third eye
that her claw
has penetrated
my is and will be.