Hidden In Plain Sight

if you see my name, or picture and name, or my writings, elsewhere…

it’s not me.

The writing could be mine, but I didn’t put it there. It’s the internet, I’m under no false pretences that people don’t steal identities and writings to pass off as their own. 

so… unless I have invited you to know me on a different platform other than this one, I’m afraid that the “me” you may have had interactions with, is not the “me” me. Hopefully if you did have interactions with “me,” I was at least kind and respectful ?

There once was a Whore

who could spread so wide.

Along came a Spider

and sat down beside her

To peek at what she kept inside.

How many years of beauty do I have left? 
she asks me. 
How many more do you want?
Here. Here is 34. Here is 50.

When you are 80 years old
and your beauty rises in ways
your cells cannot even imagine now
and your wild bones grow luminous and
ripe, having carried the weight
of a passionate life.

When your hair is aflame
with winter
and you have decades of
learning and leaving and loving
sewn into
the corners of your eyes
and your children come home
to find their own history
in your face.

When you know what it feels like to fail
ferociously
and have gained the
capacity
to rise and rise and rise again.

When you can make your tea
on a quiet and ridiculously lonely afternoon
and still have a song in your heart
Queen owl wings beating
beneath the cotton of your sweater.

Because your beauty began there
beneath the sweater and the skin,
remember?

This is when I will take you
into my arms and coo
YOU BRAVE AND GLORIOUS THING
you’ve come so far.

I see you.
Your beauty is breathtaking.

Poem by Jeannette Encinias

I’m being serenaded ?

Wish it had occurred to me to record his singing. If you’ve never heard a Magpie sing, your life simply isn’t complete.