Aya Summers, 2017 Poet

Between Soul and Bone

find me here, in the warm
earth, love fills
each barefoot step in
the DEEP DEEP caves of
d
o
w
n…
warning, do NOT lean over
the edge of the world. but i trespassed.
yes.
into the sheer cliff of descent,
making roots of sorrow
and spark of solitude.

FEEL IT, the heat, the beat of all things.

we spiral
downward into self,
pulse into the nameless dark
gathering roots here-

ancient, deep, cosmic.

i’ve always wanted to grow tall
limbs reaching for morning sky
for astral pulse
so wHERE am i…

between safety and freedom
between seed and surrender
between root and wing,
yes, YES,
stretching, always
in two worlds at once
here, where the soul meets the bone.

visit me again sometime.

 


WHERE

if love can’t enter through an open heart
it will make its way
through an open wound.

 


Between the Limbs of Dance

In my bones there are drum beats
waiting to unfold.
It is no secret.

A tune spills
into my ankles,
and the chest fills
and the hands gather
and the skin trembles.
There is no stopping it.

Early mornings I find my soul uprooted
from native land,
a primal rhythm surging through my body.

It’s curious how many wounds a song can open
just to caress them into healing.

How the ribs widen to make space
for memories
you didn’t know you had.
The madness
that brings us right back
to our source.

I know, darling
I’ve been lonely, so lonely
lonely in spaces
only music can fill.

 


Coyote Rising

i honor you
as you howl at the moon

i honor you
as you define your territory
and lay claim to your own sovereignty

this is you
initiating divine ritual,
inhabiting your battle cry
this is you and this is me
and this is all of us
protecting what is sacred
within
and without.

let us pay no heed to the love that claims
distortion
nor containment
for to tame a wild thing is not an act of love
but a lure of the shadows.
defend your howl, young one
and own your rising-
as you claim your darkness
so can you claim your light.
this is your raw
truth seeking, widsom speaking
undomesticated self,
set it free in your primal dance.

i honor your prowl
do not temper it.

do not curb your cravings for the edge
but run towards the calling
to meet each conquest.

and honor the weapons
that have broken you
for they have only broken you
to reveal you
to yourself.

 


 

Aya Summers

“Poetry, for me, is the edge of consciousness. When I dance, when I dive, when I speak to trees – it becomes a poem in movement, seeping through everyday life. I love to travel and experience the Earth and its people – they’re all living poems. I’m just a translator, a vessel. I’ve found that words can touch people and create new worlds. And maybe, just maybe, it can save us too.”

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