María Warrior of Self

Sometimes

when I wake up

soft and more

of dream

than waking life

I wish

to lick myself

the way a cat

cleanses —

my tongue

over the miracle

of my hands

over the soft plane

that is my belly

down the length

of my legs

my tongue lapping

tender over

my calloused feet

— especially over

my calloused feet

licking with devotion

the arable land

of my back

scooping

the forgotten sweat

behind my knees

seeing what is there to see

the edges at the mouth

the cave that brought

my children forth into life

my tongue over my territory

the way a cat knows

the limits of her fur