I know that sounds strange, but it’s true, and I can’t really talk about the other birth; it’s a creative birth, happened right in front of me, on line, in real-time, and I was a midwife. And that sounds very self-serving. I will be still and just post part of what I wrote for the occasion.
being a bard
you write even when your heart
can’t be in it
the people depend on
the story and song you bring them
without story the people die
and without song
they don’t remember the story
;
the bard can’t always be there
.
facing illness
rejection
ill-temper in others
and whatever griefs and shames
and inversions of purpose
may be the bard’s
forward
!
you think you have
a dry stick in your hand
you strike the earth and water comes up
and you have a hand on a tree
and sun in your eyes through the leaves
.
