Silence

Jennifer Miller

I am a forest woman

who holds a desert within her.

The mystic hermit in my heart

craves the cleansing silence,

needs the starkness of sand and bone

to remind me of what still holds meaning

when all else has been cleaned away

by coyote’s mouth and buzzard’s beak.

I must have my 40 days and nights,

even as the tasks of mundanity

make their demands,

even as I walk through,

one foot on the well-worn path,

the other beyond all human habitation.

I cannot be full again

until I am empty.

I cannot make an offering

until I have had an experience.

I cannot teach

until I have met the teacher.