My mind as the farmer, and, my body as the land…This year, we both get a break; It is my fallow year. I’ve spent years planning, sewing, praying for rain, and harvesting my crops; moving through life as if it were a check off list to turn in once completed. I, like soil, am depleted. I will meet the weather patterns with ease, knowing I don’t depend on the rain. This year, I am a plot of land going untouched. I am reclaiming rest, remembering- it is work. I am gifting myself time to get back to my organic matter. I will accept the pauses that come along with the fallow; unlike lost income- my health cannot be replaced. I trust with time, the earth will replenish my soil. I will welcome each sunrise, simply grateful to see another day. I will accept droughts, floods, pests, and the scorching summer heat. This year, I will move slowly, breaking the cycles one season at a time.

My arms; they’re scrunched up to my sides as I thumb my way through this thought. We sleep in one big bed now. Our bed, we call it. As it turns out, sleepovers aren’t just for when you have company.

It’s a feeling.
It’s a spot.
It was a time.
It’s yet to come.
It’s in my daydreams.
It’s in my breath- coming in and out of my lungs.
It lives in a poem my heart rewrites every trip around the sun.
It lives at my grandmother’s kitchen table and in the hourly sounds her clock made.

Sometimes it’s my feet in the dirt.
Others it’s in low lighting, having tea with a friend.
It finds me when I’m well.
It guides me when I’m unwell.
It’s what I didn’t know I needed.
It’s what I don’t know how to ask for.
It is peace, when I’ve surrendered.
It is joy, after sorrow.
It is laughter, while I’m crying.
It is closing my eyes, then getting to open them again.

It is in the seasons.
Coming with the sun rising in the East
And going with the sun setting in the West.
It is fleeting.
It is ever so slow.
It is all of the seasons bound together.
It is my life.

That’s it!
I found it.
What am I most grateful for?
My life.
Their lives.
Your life.
All bound together-
All of our experiences.
It’s in the mundane.
It burrows itself in my sorrow, just to bloom again with time.

It is my fear unmasked.
It is the ebb and flow.
It’s every year wiser.
It is slowing down, just to speed up.
It’s in my friendships.
My jobs.
My family.
My passions.
My failures.
My pain.
It is worth all of it, all over again just to feel it again.
It is in who I was when I entered this world.
It is in who I am tucked into our family bed writing this poem.
It is me, alive.

It is D.) All of the above

Their little toes massaged with coco butter
Its past bedtime, but I know it’s worth it
To give them what I so desperately wanted
Caring for them, is caring for me
At age five and again at three

We’re tired
Exhausted actually
The beach disappeared, we stayed so long

What was your favorite part of your day, I ask
Now, they say
A gentle reminder for me
To just be

Like waves crashing and beginning
Over and over again
Moments passing

No push
No pull
Just here with them
Present.

Every moment, they’re learning
My words enter their ears and remain in their bodies
My hands, how they care for them

I am their guide
They are their captain
I keep them safe
They choose their direction

My ancient eyes
My family unknowingly gave me to judge
Remarkably replaced, with practice

My new eyes
To see
To heal
To be, me.

Their big, little blue eyes softly close
As I lather coco butter on my feet

Respecting them, is respecting me
Filling my cup
To quinch our thirst
To be held
To be heard
To know, we are capable
We are good inside.