2010-03-22 Middle Child
Red rocks band together, forming cup-like around me.
I do not worry about what I am keeping at bay –
the coyotes, the scorpions, who I was in Ohio,
steel grey clouds in my distant sight.
But instead, I think of what is keeping warm
the muscle that is my heart.
In this sauna of sagebrush and stones,
I am rediscovering my core and it is everywhere –
in the spiral petroglyph, while its loose end gives birth
to a fossilized human, its origin is etched stone.
And in the medicine wheel,
which steered many an ancient people.
I stand in its center and think,
“cob of corn, chewed apple core, elongated spine.”
Even the basalt boulders rise up like an altar
from beneath the sandstone seams in Cathedral Rock.
All my life, the middle was a birth order defect.
I am one and whole.
Stay rooted, I tell myself.