Growing Pains

Familiar golden trill.

The hollow breast of a singing bowl.

A chorus of honey floats into dormant ears.

My body tingles in the effervescence of the dawn.

Cerulean cocoon,

Ambrosial drops of life.

The soft, dewy down embraces me.

With each swish, a gentle sigh.

Tangerine sky.

Hips ache as I rise, but I smile

at the pitter-patter of my heart.

I feel, I see, I feel seen.

Speckled oatmeal porridge.

Eyes widen at the hiss of steam.

Our synchronous slurps from the plastic chalice

Prove Pavlov's theory true.

Billowing onyx braids.

We tuck femininity into armor and resume our rebellion.

Gratitude. "Remember when you wanted what you have now."

Spirits resonate with freedom and unity.

Mud-caked motley peloton.

Our fierce thighs straddle steel divides and

crush stereotypes.

Ready for a new day we set age, race and stature aside.

We ride with pride and a unified orientation: onward.

Brave bronze women.

Indigenous feet brace the gritty pink pedal with

trepidation as we navigate our living cultural landscape.

What a privilege to witness the weaving of new narratives.

Silvery sonic threads.

Kokopelli seduces us onto a stretch of cliffside singletrack.

Hot tears metamorphose demons into anticlines.

We rise out of the saddle and subdue slickrock into nihility.

Navajo sandstone monolith.

Beads of sweat collect upon its brow as we catch our breath.

We bask in its temporality

like the eroding patriarchy.

Sacred amethyst blaze.

Celestial visions crystallize above us.

The hymn of Mother Earth embalms us in aromatic magic.

Watchful ancestors linger upon branches of the cedar tree.

Murky Green River.

We glisten in refraction.

Once a prism of darkness, now breathless and brilliant.

I am them and they are me.

Native. American.

The desert is an oasis of truth,

a geologic tapestry maimed by tricksters.

I open my eyes and reimagine the Anthropocene.