Monthly Archives: November 2016

Me She


‚ÄčI’m me

Not sassy not sensual

I’m sensuous, touch, taste, feel, be

My form is supple

Sliding from voluptuous to vulpine

In the blink of an eye

My curves are gentle, quiet inviting

I’m not pneumatic or burlesque

That’s not my version of She

My wild woman wanders the woods in quiet reverence

Witness to the Moon

Tending her call

Singing over bones

Drumming my life’s rhythm

La loba sees me, hears me, I become her

But I don’t howl…unless I’m wounded

And then I retreat deeply so only Her womb hears my call

My voice can be heard but for truth, you’ll have to listen close

I’ll whisper about me, 

the real me, the me She

I won’t scream her or shout her

She’s mine, she’s yours

You womb-anifest her your way

This path is mine

We can grasp hands, clasp fingers, gaze into the other’s eyes

And She will be there to divine, Divine

Glimpse her, hear her, listen deep

She is in my bones

Aeons old, born anew in me

In you

La que sabe

She who knows

We are birthed from her, live from her, die to her

And so we return, again and again and again

Circular, cyclical, rhythmic

Writhing in dirt, grimed by time passing, marked by her bidding

Over and over and over

Rising, flowing, brightening, ebbing

Heart river, her river

Womb river, life giver

Maiden, mother, wolf runner


I am She

(My own words)


Beautiful woodcut, one of many, check out the amazing art of Jaclyn E. Atkinson: