Wild Thing

When I was young, frivolous and all of 115 pounds,

all it took was skin tight jeans and a shimmery little top.

I could walk to the party, certain that the “wild thing” that lived

inside of me would emerge and bring out her two side kicks,

mischief and excitement.

Enhanced by the boundary fading effects of cold beer,

shots of tequila and a good joint,

it was easy to be fiercely impetuous.

I loved it and was loved for it.

It would behoove me right now to sit again

with the purest aspect of that wanton young spirit,

for I fear she may disappear …. and I need her.

Gently sifting the ground meal of forty years of experience,

folding the “pure wild” of her into my mixing bowl,

leavened with spoonfuls of lovingly harvested sweet wisdom,

flavored with aromatic herbs of passion,

a gently whisked (well beaten?) fertile egg of fresh ideas to give loft to this mix,

and enough drops of earth mother’s finest spring water to shape it.

Ah yes, this I would bake to honor the wild young goddess.

She lives inside of me still, sometimes springing out

in what feels like inappropriate moments.

But I am leery of any desire to harness her.

She guides me towards “texture” when I shop the thrift stores,

and color when I roam the produce department ~

not satisfied with the mundane and ordinary.

She is not afraid of an empty bank account

for her untamed vision peers deeper and farther

with a keen knowingness that comes from feral memories.

On the horizon a new day hovers

wooed back to life by the wild mustang’s nicker.

Her eye shines bright.

Her loyalty knows no boundaries

Her senses open to the undulating vibrations of the universe,

ready for new information.

A joyful expression of all that is wild.

I will cook weeds for her ~ dandelions and stinging nettles.

To preserve the wild.

I love her.