"Flesh and Bone" - Tiffany Moss Singer

The mythos of my childhood is filled with flesh and bones.

My newly formed conscience
rocked in the cradle of a Judeo-Christian world
made from Earth.
Formed from the clay, Adam would return,
ashes to ashes and dust to dust,
only bones remaining.
All who enter this world,
only bones remaining.

Yet, from Adam’s bones came Eve: the Rib.
An arc of bone protecting the heart,
the heart that beats time with
a world made of earth:
the tides, the seasons, the flesh which returns and the
bones which remain.
The rib, an arc of bone protecting the lungs,
the lungs that inspire the breath of life: Spirit.

Eve, from bone made flesh,
The Mother of All Living.
Eve, beloved archetype,
a tangible version of Mother in Heaven
envisioned by the prophetess Eliza,
misappropriated as a beguiled sinner
whose melancholic whistle sounds through
the dry bones of patriarchy.

I know better, cradled as I was in the myth
of a world made of Earth.

I am of the land, like Adam, like Eve.
I am of the land that nourished and sustained
a rag-tag band of Saints who envisioned
a Mother God to rival that of a Father,
who settled on Ute soil already deemed sacred:
Mother Earth.

This is the Mother I understand,
the Mother whose presence inhabits
forest cathedrals,
her song from clear running brooks.
Her call to worship: the sun and the moon,
the cycle of birth and death,
ashes to ashes and dust to dust,
only bones remaining.

Yet nothing to fear, She whispers,
this earth made flesh and flesh made earth,
this yielding of elements
merely a requisite for renewal and rebirth.

Mine is the mythos of Mother, in all her iterations.


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