Sweat Lodge

Sweat Lodge

These women, some women

Woodland witches, shaman, grandmothers, sisters

Their songs pull and reveal

Their prayers lift and heal

I reach deep within with a strong hand

And pull forth all that I am

Laying it carefully in front of the hot rocks

Glowing embers, smoking medicine, billowing steam

I am raw, fully formed

There is no hiding in this perfect

Pitch black womb, tomb

Every door, I roll out with the steam

Lie on the cold earth, panting, praying

Watching the vapor rise from me

Carrying with it ages of suffering to blow away on the wind

Find my fortitude, roll onto my knees

Crawl back in to sing the prayers of the ancestors

Emerging, soft from the steam, strong from the medicine

Wise from the intensity

Born of this pitch black womb