I Am Learning How to Be a Flower by Dominque Christina Ashaheed

There is a wisdom that you can claim.
It rumbles and shimmies in your belly.
Low and deep, it is an old and familiar knowing.
A railroad of long ago yesterdays asking us to remember the typography of our souls.
Our own inspired light.
I swallowed a Lilly once and heard the laughter I had been denying.
There are so many songs waiting on the garden of your belly to be given permission to grow.
Who told us to shut out our own indomitable light?
Our own remarkable song.
There is a universe in my body.
I wake some nights the constellation of stars settling deep behind my eyelids
Our memories are older than we are.
We are born into so many stories.
So many ways of knowing.
A long sigh of yesterdays without formal introductions.
But, I am learning how to be a flower.
How to remember my body.
How to commit to her regeneration
How to reassemble these bones into star-shine.
I am learning how to love like lavender.
Stretching out around the sun
until we are singing the same insistent melodies
I am hearing my own voice again.
Becoming a wider girl.
You want to know who I am?
I’m wind-song.
Many mountains moving a rain cloud.
A midnight sigh.
A forest.
An old story.
A new song.
A pink and possible thing.
Sugar cane growing sticky and sweet from an impossible earth.
I am magic.
The lightening that animates the work.
The work that animates the soul.
The soul that animates the girl
The girl who animates the words
The words that make a world
Pulling panties from my palms
I know how to sit naked in a flower garden
Wrap my legs around an old oak tree.
Find the tectonic shutter of every leaf and limb.
Let them give me back the benefit of my name.
Can you see me?
I am learning how to bend easily in a breeze.
A lotus.
A pink bloom in pure water.
I am learning how to be a flower.
How to occupy this body with intention.
How to worship this skin.
How to praise the way it sighs and stretches over these long bones.
It is not a borrowed thing.
It is the most expensive things I own.
…and my beating heart.
I am learning how to seek the sound of my flesh.
How to leap
and dance
and be still.
I am learning how to walk in my own purpose.
How to seek my own divine light.
What a celebrated journey.
What awesome soul stretching thing
What pretty stars in these eyes.
What bravery to love yourself widely enough to lean into your own magic.
To dance your blue-note melody all the days of your life.
I am learning how to BE a flower.
To smile into your wounds until they are petals in the wind for blowing.
To love the vast landscape of your heart.
To let it be a diamond mine in your chest.
A persistent gust of wind.
A meditation.
A love poem.
A Frohman album where you smile with all your teeth and every picture the way your name sounds as it moves through the lips of your beloved.
I am learning how to be a flower.
It is the best thing I have ever done.
In the morning I will walk into a river that greets me like a warm, wide mouth.
And I will remember to be grateful.
For you.
For me.
For the way the earth and all her audacity and wisdom keeps offering us
over and again until we agree to be new.
To be made over.
To be rooted.
To bloom
and open to the sun.
Like a prayer
Or a kiss
Or the bamboo your spine can become
Or the flower gardens we are trying to plant in our chest
Exactly like that.