Inside the Mouth of a Ram
APR 18, 2025
I was born inside the mouth of a ram
and for some destined reason
I remember the walls of skin and the teeth
that dug in.
I remember the roar of this ecclesiastic
moment of astrology and the white lights
that christened me
into this world on fire.
And I forgot my whims
from whence I sat there, aging inside
the mouth of a ram. But,
there was a time when I flirted with these memories
Sitting at our kitchen table
as the rain poured down for us
as we danced
and drank wine
To celebrate the rise of a bloody moon
giving our love to a greater mother
and singing our praise
to our higher power.
The medium we would choose to pain in
a sacred language
of the heart
and soul.
Now, open pens bleed ink into my skin
and I don’t mind
I’ve always had muddy hands.
And in my dream tonight
We traveled there, together
with the Christ body
and when he left us
it made sense
Because there was no longing or malice
just that it was only right
that he help us get to that place
the place in our dream.
Where we can be together
without any swaddled opinion
or guidance of lesser fools
and the grief that keeps us.
So that we might take that leap
as his mother did
in the light of angels
and the richness of bounty.
I am relieved to know that
my hair has not grown in vain
or that my sweltering debt
has not been pain in haste.
Even the birds sing songs
in the clouds, snow and rain
and maybe they even sing to us
through all our growing pains.
Sometimes, in my humanness
I chew at the skin that beds my nails
as the cats might to the corners of my books
and I forget myself
in these minute moments
where the cloud eats the rain
and I am transfixed on the past
or my pain
and when a bolt flashes
maybe from another cloud
or a storm that spews through my brain
I remember your skin and your softness
like the child of a ram remembers its mother’s
and it becomes so silly and childish
to be saddened at all
because I have you, a heart for my arrow.
Sometimes, I wish I were a man
so that I could be as strong as you,
but that is foolish because I never could be
and maybe you need my softness too
as each cloud needs each drop of rain
to form the mourning dew.
Just as the sun needs the sky
to greet us as we climb
each mountain; inside the mouth of a ram.
God, I do it for you.
