Bless me here
and here, and here
Lay a firm hand on my heart
Until you can hear the beating
Filling the air around us
With invisible instruments of your bare hands
Draw open the top of my head
So that clouds of dense thought can escape
Grey exhaust fumes, billowing shapes and stories
When the tears come, let them run over your palms
Cup the base of my neck and let them stream down
Use them as lotion, rub them into my muscles
Take the crystal from the shelf and the feather to brush
And cleanse. Let my pelvis become platter
Holding sacred items, of power, of tenderness
But when it comes time for anointing
The blessing of oil to forehead
The confirmation of my vow to be whole
Hand the oil to me, let my fingers dip
My hand to skin, elixir warmed by my heat
I will bless myself in the end
(MFritchle, 2020)