Belinda Edwards offered a session on May 5.

Belinda Edwards is from “the red earth of East Texas, where the peanuts grow dreaming of a winter harvest; and blacksmiths, farmers, teachers, and janitors with strong backs and quick wit toil.” She currently lives in Santa Fe, NM. She earned her M.A. degree in Counseling Psychology from the University of California, Santa Barbara. She is currently an Amherst Writers & Artists group Facilitator and offers writing groups for Seniors. She is currently working on a Collection consisting of poems and essays titled Walking on Our Knees Backwards Home. Her latest essay Grief Bundle will be published in the Santa Fe Literary Review Fall 2021.

Story Medicine is an Indigenous healing modality blending ritual with the written word. Medicine begins with words in Indigenous cultures. Myth and legend heal because they remind us of balance and right relationship.

Firstborn

by Kate Marshall Flaherty

she crowns, her head a tight plug
in my portal, her soft skull-skin
stretched into a screaming circle—
this ring of fire—

and me, she, us, once one,
now s-e-parating in searing skin
and a circle so taut it holds
the whole world in this instant—

an aaaaaiiiii sound comes from some
oval-depth within me, my eyes purple
from pushing, my sweat-grip salting
every inch of fierce flesh,

her fontanel so soft it folds
into rounded point, piercing the air, the tear
turns to flame and lo! I feel her
crowned-out slippery skull,

her silverfish body slides next,
slipping into the outside space
she is a she the midwife cries out
girl child, I see her sex engorged
and hear her lusty cry for my breast.

Hearts of Old Warriors

by Belinda Edwards

World War II veterans are dying.
They limp across the television screen,
while pictures of their younger selves
flicker into view.

Will these old warriors’ hearts
melt into the earth,
like adobe bricks
worn
by rain,
by wind,
by fire

or does war wear
away the heart,
turning it to
cracked
stone?

Perhaps
after a lifetime of war,
the wind
will
wild seed
them
again.

Untitled

by Jennifer Strait

The deepest rooted dream of a tree is to know itself through connection. From bridging
microscopic life to supporting the heaviest of winged friends.  Trees are the bridge
builders, literally and figuratively, between beings and shelter, starvation and
nourishment, river bank to river bank. What is my deepest rooted dream? To know
myself through connection, building bridges between worlds, between communities,
between the seen and the unseen.  The deepest rooted dream is that of unconditional
love. Each of us feeding, nourishing, building, loving, supporting our own tree medicine –
within ourselves and others.

Wrong Bus

by Alma

I got on the wrong bus and
was born into a Homo Sapiens,
living a life of longing

The tender skin around my trunk
an alien mistake when I know
there’s bark waiting out there
ready to wrap around my body
My limited limbs long to
sprout into an array of branches
with laughing leaves entering 
wild wind dances on dark stormy nights

Someone said “maybe trees long to walk”
but I know trees travel in mycelium webs
the tapestry embracing the earth
Threads of love reaching further 
than comprehension of Homo Sapiens mind
I got on the wrong bus

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Thank you for joining us to Write Around the World!

For the rest of the summer, watch our blog! We are sharing writing from AWA’s yearly marathon fundraiser, which happened this year all-online throughout the month of May.

We offer this series in appreciation for the incredible community of writers and workshop leaders that sustain us. If you’re inspired and would like to be part of the fundraiser, please donate!