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Beyond the unforgiving core

of gravity

she births herself

through molten rock

and hard-pan crust

into the space that soars

above the rant of tempests,

of burning bushes,

sun, moon,

the spin of stars

and far beyond

the fabled edges

of the universe

no longer up or down

but circling straight

into the riddle

of her Self.

.

.

© 2013, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright

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A re-post from 2013.

This was rewritten from an old poem, published

in my 1976 chapbook “Living Color”.

 

 

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She searches for a pulsetree-in-hand

her fingers kneading earth

beneath rocks and stones

to reach the heart of Gaia.

There she rides the quake

of nature’s first womb

lifting her face

to catch the genesis

of sun and rain

wind

and moon

till seedlings birth

their promises.

Labor replete

she bows her head

and the gods kiss the dirt

beneath her nails.

.

(c) 1992, 2017 Betty Hayes Albright

.

(a re-post)

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Photo originally used with permission of Jason in 2012 at  http://loveuniversallove.wordpress.com/

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With Child

          (to both my sons)

 .

It turned out

not to be the flu

but instead, new knowledge

soaked in seasoned hormone.

The days grew round  –

I’d done something right!

And the old lady winked

as feet and elbows

drew taut arcs

pushing at their cage of ribs,

poking out my navel,

aching my back.

And still we toasted

to your soul

with gratitude and joy

as you were born

into the bloodprint of time.

.

(c) 1993  Betty Hayes Albright

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