Cast Off
after Liz Berry

I crossed the border into the Republic of Heretics,
and discovered a savage and beautiful country.

I handed over my badge, my Confession of Faith, and my halo,
removed my uniform, and put on a robe of ragged motley,

took up the pen and the wand, the seed and the bowl,
and made my home in the wildlands beyond the hedge.

I ran naked with outcasts through ruined cities,
and when trespassers came from the other world

we circled around them, stared into their rabbit eyes,
and ran on in our wayward ferality. I had cast off shame

like outworn garments, had no need of the bound ones
and their domestic pronouncements.

How I howled when the moon rose over that country. In this place,
I can feel my bones, and the blood in the rivers of my body.

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The first line of Liz Berry’s “Republic of Motherhood” in the current issue of The Poetry Foundation’s magazine Poetry arrested me, and I couldn’t stop thinking of it. Each new shouldered identity becomes a border crossing, a new country. I often felt like an outsider in The Republic of Motherhood, though it has been a joyful and fulfilling place for me. Still, I have never felt so much belonging as I have since I have taken on the identity of Heretic, and joined the ones who howl at the moon.

As I was working on my poem, I was caught by how quickly the synonyms for wild get very negative–savage, brutal, fiendish–and how the synonyms for tame tend toward blandness. The set which seems to break that mold, and which I want to work with more deeply in the future is unbroken and broken. Wild and unbroken, broken and tame. I like the word ferality. And wildishness.

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Gratitude List:
1. Good company
2. YouTube videos that inspire art
3. My very creative and caring colleagues
4. Grace. Let’s all give ourselves a little grace today
5. So many good books to read!
May we walk in Beauty!