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LEGACY by Tracie Nichols

Lately, I have been consciously trying to spend more moments simply being in mindful awareness…

I’ve also been consciously making more time for creativity. The other morning those two intentions collided leaving me with a strange dilemma.

Thinking to practice some mindful awareness, I opened our back door and gazed out at the dove gray sky, emptying my mind and breathing myself into presence. The universe must have been feeling playful, because within minutes a murder of crows was raucously diving around that sky in full-throated caw. No matter, I thought and continued breathing. Then the words “my day begins with crow dance” floated into my mind with that tantalizing tingle I know means there are more words to come.  

And, so, I was left with the dilemma. Pursue the poem, or risk losing it and stay in mindful presence? I chose mindful presence. The Universe chuckled and gifted me with the poem later that day. 
Ravens by Emi Fujimoto
Legacy
by Tracie Nichols

my day 
begins with 
crow dance

ungainly, strident
rife with 
refreshing truth
proclaiming my
right my 
sovereign right
to space
to be 
seen, heard 
and noticed

old chair
joint creaks
muzzy pre
tea head
semi thoughts
entangled with
waking earth
communions sensed

this place
this place
holds me
here with 
it’s red
sandstone bones
lending my 
aging woman 
legs their
stony strength

but what
if I 
leave if 
my aging
frame doubts 
her resilience 
in this
sometimes snowy 
sometimes sweltering
mercurial land

if so
please not 
to damp
not to 
heavy-aired
mouldering piney 
swamps with 
their swift
darkling crocodilians

no

take me
to the 
vast dryness
take me 
to turquoise-skied
red-rocked deserts
where my
old bones 
can add 
their dust
can lay 
themselves reverently 
on wind 
polished rock

take me
where monsoon
rains will
dash me
laughing from 
my repose
and carry
me canyon
to canyon
until I
am scattered
over miles
of gravel
creek bottom

where millennia
from now
my now
dust old
woman bones
and wheat
gold creek
sand will
have mingled
and made
yellow sandstone 
bones lending 
their strength 
to some 
yet to 
be ancestress.



Tracie Nichols has written poetry since she was 11 years old. While most of her early works are gone (this is probably a good thing) she continues to scribble poems at odd hours about everything from the state of her soul to the sounds of her kitchen. In truth, though, her poetic heart belongs to the deep green places of our wildly, fiercely, sacred, earth. When she isn’t making poetry with words she’s listening to the whispers of the green world, making alchemy with plants and stones and moonlight wildness. Tracie blogs, shares resources and generally nurtures at her website here. Connect with her also on Twitter or Facebook. 



~If you are interested in seeing your poetry appear in this blog, or submitting a poem by a woman that has inspired you, please click here for submission guidelines. I greatly look forward to hearing from you!~
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