Solstice Shaman

We carry in our breath

the sighs of the weary
the shouts of the fool

the prayers of the trickster.

In our blood we hold

the anger of the violated

the sorrow of the bereaved

the bitterness of the defeated.

Our bones still remember

the pain of the struggle

the shattering of dreams

the cold shoulders of church.

Memories laid down in our flesh

go unnoticed for a while

the skin shields and hides

the muscles tighten their grip

Until, one night, the briefest of all

Shaman slips unbidden

beneath the sheets.

Her dreams stir your soul

while she rubs your sore back

and, as daybreak brings the solstice dew

she bids you sip from the cup

until the thirst you did not know you had

is slaked and you can remember.