Messed Up

A white owl brought me pieces of my soul
During the long dark night, this ritualistic winter descent of
the land of Fire and Ice, the land that's claimed me
into its' seasons, its times and ways, its rhythms - the grinding
glaciers, the silt that sifts the days and coats my heart thick,
the frozen heaves that crack the walls I build, my shelter,
the break up that first shakes, then swallows pieces of us, as
the melting burns off the ice with cold wet mud and choking ash...
the otter baby barge nonchalantly floating by, the cranes scouting, their
prehistoric whoop calls a soul home, my soul, more pieces retrieved with this passing,
this emergence up the dark stone steps so slowly.
Life. Mine, a quilt made by inhuman hands, wrapped around my shoulders,
My hair pulled back, chin lifted up to see
What I have been given to do. And my readiness to do it.
Only because I'm so messed up. So messed up.
And don't care if I ever get up again because I am
the leftover wine of me - whatever cup is held out I will fill -
I am nothing but fruit of the vine made to nourish another.
Messed up, trampled down though I begged for mercy.
Now I think I know what it is to have sweet wine flowing through my veins.
Like nectar. It only flows for others - for others. Not for me.
And I am a river flowing down to the place where I am finally free.