xov thao | D12 | cb [done]

if i die, you must tell my body how to get home
so my soul can get back from that place where i lay
kiss my eyelids and cross my hands
so i can feel familiar arms around me.

let a voice lead me back to where i married
oh i hope i’ll have felt that simple wish granted
of someone to always forgive those heavy things
my parents couldn’t shake before they gave me

when my hands are cold and lacking
remind me how they made medicines
from the bounty of greenery in the meadow
how mother taught them the mortar and pestle

tell me how to find that cottage by the river
where my sisters led me laughing
where my brothers taught me to skip stones
where i nearly drowned but mother saved me

take me to the little room where they named me
Xov, “thread”, to know i was part of a whole
touching a long line of mothers-ancestors
they say they walked on foot to this wasted place

show me the way to mama’s bed
and i’ll dive under and dig up my placenta
right where she buried it
a promise of love from my first breath

i know these leathered feet can take me
and there i’ll sleep until the morning
when i awake
something new