I trip and slip through the cracks,
free fall into the dark
of the underworld,
into the depths
of past lifetimes.
Gravity pulls me down
and back a few hundred years,
to be buried deep
beneath the roots,
where the air is cold and damp.
And then, a feather of warmth
lightly flutters over my face.
My eyes crack open and my gaze turns
up towards the source.
There’s a fire of golden healing light.
I sigh!
It’s up too high
above the ground
past the the soil, and even the leaves,
Up high beyond the sky.
With deliberation I
dust off and unfold
out of my tightly
crouched position.
In slow motion I uncoil.
My creaky joints
and leathery skin,
they could do
with some warmth
and indeed, some oil.
I’m drawn towards the light,
As a plant would be.
Lifetimes it takes, to stand
Upright.
To help, I press into my toes.
I glimpse up, my fingers out,
trembling from the full reach.
Other fingertips inch down for me.
They try to grab me, to pull me,
up into the light.
I jump up and down, invoking
fire and air, the God of dance,
water, and the warriors of times gone by,
and I lean, and continue to reach,
tiptoe even higher,
and then, those fingers
they catch mine.
Natasha Devalia 