My feet firm on the concrete and toes on the sewer grate
The afternoon rain gushes along my ankles and sieves through my toes
(There’s a richer metaphor here,
something like a broken
dam, but I can’t quite find it…)
Echoes of the sewer pipes reveal the vastness of the earth deep beneath me
I smell the dampness of the earth where it comes up, kissing the rocks, mixing its mist with the oxygen. My house is 6 feet above sea level – 6.1 feet or 1.86 meters to be exact.
Stucco over Dade Pine built on what was likely scrub or coastal hammock. Sandy soil over a limestone sponge. It’s not just what comes overland, but what slowly seeps in unnoticed
Now, it seems the water spills onto the road with each full moon.
If you are quiet, you can feel it
If you are still, you can hear it
Tremble of ancient hemlocks, Rattle of rose gold leaves
Close your eyes. Breathe it in
Earth after rain
Smells like home
She was still
And knew that She was
She felt the heat of the sun
And She perspired, a Glow
She heard the rhythm of
Deep rumbling at her Center
Stepping into the mud, it covers my foot and embraces it like a hug. Pulling my foot out takes effort and balance and creates the sound of escape.
I look over my shoulder and see a snail slowly emerging from its shell.
It’s within a breath’s length of me.
I lie there. I watch it. I settle in. I belong.
Time slows, contracts I am in between measurable time
past present and future collide
I was, I am, I will be
high above my Native land. Walking the wash,
I love it every time I do it.
Breeze quivers the leaves,
Soft and open, she rests.
Calling me forth to be enshrouded
with its formlessness
so that I too
may slip between
the realms.
If you are quiet, you can feel it
If you are still, you can hear it
Tremble of ancient hemlocks, Rattle of rose gold leaves
Close your eyes. Breathe it in
Earth after rain
Smells like home
My work is a conversation with the world
Where we land
Where we die
A dance of consciousness, an ancient devotion.
Listen closely, for the water is alive,
Ever-shifting in its form,
Through space and time, its journey transforms.
If you are quiet, you can feel it
If you are still, you can hear it
Here, separated from everything
but this silence

Here
I find myself
beautiful.
My feet firm on the concrete and toes on the sewer grate
Tremble of ancient hemlocks, Rattle of rose gold leaves
Close your eyes. Breathe it in
Earth after rain
Smells like home

Learn more about Arsimmer McCoy by visiting her website. https://www.arsimmermccoy.com/whoiam-1