Solstice Ozilline

12/21/22

Solstice

I’m moved by the love of the roaring ocean, like a spirit itself. She swelled and calmed and whipped up, each hour of the tender night, a new song across her lips.

The way she inspires with each moony, majestic push and pull.

I’m envious of her relentless voice. We fill her with our crap and drain her for our growing hunger, and she still breathes and hums to us like a mother, rocking, rocking. Through all the rose colored dawns.

When Ozie was born I’d wake up in the middle of the night so excited to see her again, like the childhood glee of a million Christmas mornings. I’d carefully lift her warm body, wisps of powdery lavender filling the dark air, and clutch her into the nook between my collarbone and breast, like the softest, snuggliest football. Then twist down the spiral stairs to the living room, its halls all decked.

The spark of a match. The glow of the tree. Her tiny lips and latching eyes, birdsong chirps and baby frog squeals. My off-key Christmas hymns, changing all the words to she’s and thems. The joy so great and deep and unshakable, floating up into the silent night.

No matter how deeply I must let go in order for her to find herself, no matter how far around the dark side of the moon her teen years take her and how many times she’ll KNOW she hates me, I’ll always be singing by that firelight, rocking my solstice Angel Ozilline in my arms.