• Kirsten Freeland

Ode To My Feminine

Updated: Aug 6, 2019




Ode To My Feminine


After a hundred winters

my body is sore,

my skin is raw

and my soul is in despair.


After a hundred winters

I wonder what is next,

what it is all for,

and why I have come.


After a hundred winters

the blue birds’ feathers

I once placed on the ground,

are untouched.


After a hundred winters

the land is a as barren

as I feel.



My son woke up this morning wanting to tell me about his dream. He told me that he has had this dream before, and as his story unfolded, he uttered the words “after a hundred winters”. These words struck me. I don’t know why, and I don’t need to. And. I could not ignore my desire to respond to the beauty of a story, told by a sleepy eyed young boy sitting on the stairs.

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