nestoftheredbird

The Healer by Susan Slaviero

She stands barefoot in the storm,

hoping tomorrow, when the spirits

settle, her daughter’s fever will

break.  The willow tree is greening

in the front yard as she hums

to the rhythm of bees.  Her

runes tell her: thorn, hail. She

waits it out, brewing teas of

rosehip and chamomile, soothing

warm skin with feverfew.

In dreamtime, she is a wise

wolf, burying bones among

crests of pine, knowing

her task is to remember.

In the morning, she sings mud

into medicine, tells her daughter

stories of old women with bodies

like the Moon, all them brighter

after resting in the Earth’s shadow.