The Ancient One

The ancient one came to me
in brown feathers and talons.

She whispered, “What do you seek?”

I sought control and foresight
and she tore into my flesh.

“Wisdom, guidance,” I begged.
She devoured my soft parts.

“I seek healing, protection.”
And she turned me over 
until I was merely blood and grit.

I stopped asking.
I surrendered, 
numb and not knowing 
what might be left of me 
when the ancient one was done.

She kept pecking and tearing and eating,
until I was nothing but bones
picked clean, rolling loose, 
rattling. 

Gently, she gathered me, held me high,
then let me fall. 

I landed in a heap,
a pile entangled.

Again, what do you seek?

Freedom

Only then did she read the way for me 
in my bones
and push me.

I rolled, gathering dirt and thorns
and crawling things, the tears 
of my ancestors

to make myself again, 
not in the old way,
but in the ancient way, renewed 

I stood.

As one not in control,
yet, 
        unleashed.