The Wind in my Face

There is a place
in the folds of my mind
where the wind blows
almost constantly

from the early morning bird song
to the light leaking from the sky
into the empty silences
of night.

That is where I have pinned my soul
to a clothesline
with wooden pins
bleached by the sun

and all that cleans
and whitens the grey that gets caught
in the fibers of all the days
between January and December
will be washed away.

It is the strong light
and the fast air
that will strip the smell
of dark thoughts
and fade the stains
of blood wounds
from the linens that hang out
in this open prairie
of my heart.

The hands of women
know this easy work

of sharing hope with space

and how to make new life
out of cloth
woven from tough and beautiful
threads of dreaming.

Take my breath away
with joy.

Let me stand facing the sweetness
of the coming storm.

I will gather the dry garments
I have come to wear
in creaking wicker baskets
moments before the rain cuts loose
and is delivered
from the heavens.