By: Ruth Mota
Take me Sun as you do the yellow tulip who unfolds her cup each morning to drink your mana. Cover me Sun like loam’s warm blanket. Seep down into my roots, spread your golden threads from womb to toe. Fill my mind emptied of thought with your crimson tunnel – sweet throat – that swallows all the shadows of my sins.
Ruth Mota is a retired international health trainer living now in the redwood forests of California. Besides writing poetry, she enjoys facilitating poetry circles to groups in the community like veterans and men in jail. Her poems have been published in various online and print journals including: Terrapin Books, Passager Books, High Shelf Press, Black Mountain Press and Wingless Dreamer.
"I was lying on my back on the swatch of grass we have in our backyard feeling the sun and imagining myself to be one of the seedlings I had just planted or the yellow tulip beside me which, unlike the the red and purple ones, responds each day by closing and opening to the sun's touch. The sensation of surrender was mildly erotic. The light behind my closed eyes enveloped me and seemed to swallow that heavy moral weight I carry around for the state of our earth. For days after that, similar to the way I often felt my animal nature in the past, I felt the essence of my plant self."
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