Elements of lost light...

I.
I went to the desert repenting--
in the quiet I remembered the sound of the ocean;
listened to the sound of open spaces
with a rock pressed against my ear.
I wanted to be lost;
to be found because there was little else to see.

II.
I found a patch of cool grass,
a mirage or a miracle, I couldn't tell,
but I lay on the blades
grateful for the cool relief.
The light was different, filtering through the trees
laying messages on the ground
speaking like someone dead
speaking like someone living.

I whispered the story of my mother, my sister, my best friend--
the women I knew changed to leaves
light filtering through the green
a pattern on the grass
a pattern on my cheek and hands.
They were the wisdom I checked myself by;
the ones I forgot when I became selfish.

III.

I dreamed of painting:
my hands in the dark paint
my elbows red like open wounds
a dark orange crust under my fingernails
blue on my knuckles
a stark navy smudge on one cheek.
I felt water pooling beneath my back;
I wanted to paint the sky.

IV.
I picked up needles and a ball of different fibers.
I made a carpet
a blanket
a shawl
a cap
four pairs of mittens
seven socks.
I knitted the world
and put it into my bag.

V.
I carried things on my back:
books
memories
blue stockings and regret.
I wrote the words I couldn't say--
all the lies that belonged to someone else
all the lies I heard and told.

I carried bricks so I could remember pain
stones for guilt
iron hanks for things I said but didn't mean
stakes for things I said and meant.
I put in feathers for all the things I am proud of.

My back grew strong,
but still couldn't bear one memory.
I carried it my hands, so it wouldn't be forgotten.
My hands blistered around it;
I couldn't forget.

VI.

I looked at the world and tried to write it.
I listened to the world and sang its new and ancient song.
I wrote and painted and stitched and knit.
I stretched my back.
I carried it all.
I told the truth as often as I could.
I lied when the truth was too heavy on my tongue.

I remembered the women who shared their wisdom--
who lay beside me on the grass
who held my hands
who told me time would pass as it would.

I forgot the desert,
the ocean,
myself.

Then, I was found.