A Recovered Place

a poem about settling in

I can rest now
it's still
here and I've always
wondered where
I belong

here, because I say so
and slowly, dust settles
from the red clay
my new roots
disturbed

and quiet,
I hear these birds
watching me,
a new woman in the kitchen,
hanging their plants and

incantations seem
to already have names
hold weight,
the value of the soil and
Earth quite gently wants
me barefoot and pregnant

with love and
recovery
of the girl torn away
by the rabid, vengeful
dogs of this sacred place.

I find place and
rest easy,
easier anyhow and
the hooting owls
will let me be.

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash