Doing What You Need to Do

Sometimes doing what you need to means

            washing the dishes.

Sometimes it means vacuuming,

            if you’re lucky,

            even your cat.

Sometimes doing what you need to means

            seeing white flashing through the window,

            knowing you need to soak in it.

Stepping out to the strobe light night

                        barefoot,

            turning your face up,

            feeling pellets awaken you,

            surprising you with their comforting coolness,

                        rooted life swishing above you,

                        light canons bursting,

            reminding you that you are alive,

                        these elements live in you,

                        these elements birthed you,

            bathing in connection.

Stepping into the not-quite-warm fabric,

                        closest to grab still damp and salty from before,

                        salt from your own being.

You are the salt of the earth.

            You are salt.

                        You are.

Stripping off wet clothes,

            looking at your image,

            seeing wrinkled green on your bare shoulder,

            leaf-ing it there

                        because

You are the salt of the earth.

           You are earth.

                        You are.