Dreams, it has been said, were the first poems and stories told around the fire in ancient tribal cultures. Jan Hutchinson
We gather, holding baskets
filled with fruit;
seeds and juices
of our loins.
Breasts ready to succor,
feet to serve,
ears to learn
what nurture needs.
Umbilical still grows,
Twists its lullabies;
In and out of sleep
and baths and blankets’ cover.