International Women’s Day, Thursday, March 8 , 2018, By Jennifer Angelina Petro

International Women’s Day,

Thursday, March 8 , 2018

By

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

I am a woman.

Born with a penis.

I am a woman who harbors the moon

In the center of her soul.

Born with YX chromosomes,

Low testosterone and high levels of estrogen,

So much so the doctors

Were concerned for her health.

I am a woman with a manta ray

Billowing in the dark waters of her heart.

I am a woman who went unrecognized

When she was born regardless

Of the hormones glowing in her body.

I am a woman who walks with the willows.

I am a woman given testosterone shots

When she was a child.

I am a woman born with Bast in her mind.

I am a woman who sired three sons.

I am a woman who steals through the woods

Like a ribbon of light.

I am a woman called, “Mister,”

For many of her adult years.

I am a woman who sings to each and every tree.

I am a woman with a voice

Everyone identifies as male except the trees.

I am a woman with hidden wings large enough

To drape around her body when she sleeps.

I am a woman who shaves her tits.

I am a woman who speaks stars and planets.

I am a woman who feels most comfortable physically in men’s underwear.

I am a woman who roars.

I am a woman who walks the world in fear for her life, yet walks anyway.

I am a woman who knows when you are secretly grieving.

I am a woman with hair on her fingers.

I am a woman with baskets of bread in her arms.

I am a woman most people do not want to see.

I am a woman with a spirit on fire for justice.

I am a woman who presents in ways so as to smash the tired binaries.

I am a woman with darkness in her eyes that leads to lakes hidden by trees.

I am a woman blessed to be born again and again.

I am a woman surrounded by ghosts of ladies in waiting.

I am a woman feared by men and their stunted desires.

I am a woman who raises the dead from the ground as she passes.

I am a woman feared by TERFS and their insecurities in their own femininity.

I am a woman who nests in her bed like a sleeping bear.

I am a woman feared to exist in the world.

I am a woman who bathes in flowers.

I am a woman with lotuses growing up her spine.

I am a woman with orchids watching from her thoughts.

I am a woman with tigers hiding in her laughter.

I am a woman followed by trooping faeries.

I am a woman walking side by side with a snowy unicorn of power.

I am a woman with herbs in her pockets and moss on her cloak.

I am a woman with hidden rivers of light in her touch.

I am a woman with the universe in her hair.

I am a woman who shatters skewed perceptions.

I am a woman who knows herself as the moon knows the trees.

I am a woman.

Born with a penis.

I am a woman changing the world.

I am a woman as divine as you.

 

 


 

 


All donations to this post go to The Sisterhood Agenda


Morning’s Arrival, by Jennifer Angelina Petro

Morning’s Arrival

By

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

The tree leans in,

Taps the window.

The one inside

Rises slowly,

Moves, touches the pane.

 

Suddenly it’s gone—

Dissolving into vast, open spaces;

And the freshness of the air

Fills the body, lifts the spirits,

Calms the mind, frees the soul.

 

The one inside

Breathes for the first time

In years, allowing the fingers of the tree

To dance over them

With the utmost tenderness,

Spreading a joy so clean,

So almost unimaginably sweet–

Yet there it is—rivering through them.

 

And as the tree continues its feather-light

Touches, the one inside

Moves further, closer, and climbs

Into its branches, settles

Into its arms, and the tree—

Rooted deeply in the cool, delicious earth,

Cradles the one inside, who is now

The one outside, and lifts them up

Towards the moon and the stars,

Holding them aloft—a new born

Child—and sways, and hums

Freedom songs into the sky, and waves as gently

As morning’s sun-filled arrival.

 

 

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All donations go to medical bills and groceries.  Thank you for your kind support. <3


On Notice, by Jennifer Angelina Petro

On Notice

By

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

 

At a moment’s notice

You’re on notice.

Did you notice that?

It may come person to person,

Or deer to person, or hawk to person,

You might receive notice in the mail–

It might be short notice,

Advanced notice,

Official notice,

It might be public notice,

Or you might be noticed in secret by a shadow, or the moon.

However it comes, whatever its nature,

Take it as best you can, for rest assured

One day you will be put on notice,

Or you will put notice on yourself—whichever it is—

There may not be further notice.

Keep in mind there are notes in every notice–

Musical notes that just want to be seen and heard and played.

For all noticings are musical by nature, every time

You notice another, the soul dances.

The thing to remember is this:

 

Nothing goes without notice forever.

When death comes with her eviction notice,

You will have no choice but to sit up and take it.

 

I notice your eyes,

The slight tilt of your face,

I notice you breathing on these words

Giving them life.

 

 

 


 

 

 




Thank you for your support.  All donations go to food and medical bills.

Some Thoughts on Seeing, by Jennifer Angelina Petro

Some Thoughts on Seeing

by

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

Vision depends on the amount of light the eye bends to its uses. The retina sees things upside down and needs the brain to flip the images right side up. As evening comes, the eyes tire and rebel against the light, and sleep passes over, closing them for the night.  And we dream, creating light inside ourselves, until dawn comes, awakening light within light, and we are flooded with things to touch and see, taste and smell, in short, to celebrate with our whole being.

Today, as the amount of light coming in from the world appears to be thinning, lessoning, I will make it my work to seek out more light and keep the aperture of the soul open. I will make it my work to create more light with sparks of humor or song, kindnesses and attention, calm words and softness of speech. And if I begin seeing things upside down, I will depend on the ideas of others to correct the image.

And if a time comes when the soul constricts–from fear or pain, closing off the light, then I will make it my work to seek out ways to ease the soul into opening, to coax it to look for, and to see, oceans of light in the hearts and minds of everyday people on everyday streets in everyday homes and towns across America.

Of course, sometimes the soul requires sleep and a time to dream its own dreams, some of which we never see.  And in those times of holy darkness, when I must become the moon to my soul, then I will sing in whispers and move quietly about the house so that my soul may rest.  And I will do the same for yours.  If your soul wearies and needs time to replenish its rivers and suns, then I will sing softly to you until you sleep without fear.

I am awake, and it is not too late.  In the soul’s time it is early, always early, and I open the pupils of my mind to new opportunities for vision and possibilities for drawing in more light through service and singing.  I allow the world to see the iris of my heart, risking everything to stand on the solid ground of peace—eyes wide open, looking for you.

 

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Moon Psalm, by Jennifer Angelina Petro

Moon Psalm
By
Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

You pull the tides in with silver reigns
And flood the shores of my already loosening faith,
You bring dark water to the roots of my self-loathing
And sprout entire orchards of menacing trees,
You coax little rivulets to migrate to hidden gardens of shame
That grow in the corners of my mind, helping them thrive
And spread like vines of poison ivy,
You throw down rain and muddy the earth of my hope,
You trouble the lakes and ponds of my dreams, creating resonances
That only go so far—far enough to seep over the roads
Of where I think I should be going, far enough to soak the fields of wonder
I used to love; far enough to lap at the horizon that for some reason
Still wants me–Moon, you draw forth tears from the well of my soul
And turn the waterwheel that powers the millstones
That grind the flour of my sorrow into the bitter bread of not caring anymore—
Moon, you know I need you—you know you are the most high—
Go ahead drown me–carry me home in the folds of your silver river
And lay me on the shores of your breathing
Where I can become one with the sky.

 

moon


Ode to the Medicines, by Jennifer Angelina Petro

Ode to the Medicines
By
Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

 

In a rush of water
The tan, round pill,
Like a little pebble,
Is blessed:

Thank you for finally
Putting an end
To all I never wanted to be,
Thank you for softening
Those parts that hardened
When abused,
Thank you for building a wall
So that paradise
May blossom here……………here………………………and here.

 

And then baptizing
The even smaller, smooth diamond-shaped,
Turquoise pill—Bringer of Dawn,
Highly Favored Lady,
Sacred jewel in the diadem
Of fragrant gardens—

Thank you.
Thank you for bringing water
To the desert of my soul,
Thank you for being the thousand keys
To the thousand locks opening
The thousand treasure boxes
Of who I really am,
Thank you for smoothing the rough edges,
Thank you for opening the flood gates
Of an adolescence that was stolen long ago,
Thank you for bringing together
The little girl, the woman, and the crone,
We dance in gratitude under the sacred fire for the moon,
For the medicines, for the beginning
Of a beginning that wasn’t
Allowed to start until now.
Now the goddess rises through a thousand days of sun,
Now the goddess rises with a holy spiral
In her middle, now the goddess rises
Cradling the moon,
Now the goddess rises
The earth her womb
The universe her spirit,
The horizon her brow–
Thank you coven of angels
For guiding the lost boy home
Give him the best of all things
For he was faithful to the end,
Thank you gathering of wise ones
For seeing me as I am,
And for holding me in the river of your arms.

 

wissahickon

 





Thank you for your kind donations.  They help support the costs of my physical transition, and keeping the Wonder Child Blog going.  <3


 


Trying to Focus on the Ceiling Up Close in the Half Light, By Jennifer Angelina Petro

Trying to Focus on the Ceiling Up Close in the Half Light
By
Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 
Looking up takes practice.
One doesn’t focus the eyes
So easily right off the bat,
Your eyes fight straining
So they don’t go all crisscross.
Give in to the white space however
And all manner of things emerge.
You begin to see colors,
And shapes assemble, and feelings
Of possibility and anticipation
Slowly build in your mind
Until finally you’ve fashioned a dream
To live in all day every day.
Of course your eyes eventually do go crisscross
And everything begins to blur,
And you wonder how long you’ve been
Staring at a ceiling so close to your face,
And then you wonder how you got up there,
And then you look down and just make out
Your assigned form lying there sleeping with blankets half off
Revealing just how frighteningly vulnerable
We all are when surrendered to the dark waves of living unconsciously,
And shivers run through you,
For you are doing just that up here
And everywhere you go,
And so you snip the chord
Binding you to that body
Which sends you fluttering through the ceiling, the attic,
And out into the cold, January night,
And you wonder why it is so windless,
And you wonder why you are so tissue-thin
When you feel so full,
And you wonder what unseen currents
Are bearing you, and you wonder where
And when it will end, and what your final form will look like
When you land in the arms of the moon.
And when she turns you over to kiss your face
And swathe you in caresses of light, you will wonder why
You ever waited so long to filter through the boundaries of your life
And become your fiercely awake and joy-receptive self.

 

 

 


 

 

Thank you for helping support my transition.  <3



Prayers, Soaring

Prayers, Soaring

For Eden

by

Joseph Anthony Petro

 

eden praying 2

 

 

In the center
Of the field
The child,
Hands together,
Prayed the circle
Be one, bowed
Hoping it was so,
Turned, saw spirit
Everywhere;
And the flowers
And clouds, the passing
Heron, the nearby river
Sung the hope
Into sweet and fierce truth—
And then—hands open,
Sky embraced, the child,
Realized and full
Of grace, smiled, like
The sun, like the moon,
Like a constellation
Of a million stars,
In a universe made
Of pure adventure.

 

 

 


 


Chosen

Chosen
By
Joseph Anthony Petro

 
The thing is
No one believes me.
How the fireflies dazzled their way
To my back screen door, like
A galaxy spiraling towards me.
No one believes their light
Became so strong, so blinding
It simply crossed the threshold
Into my kitchen, gathered me up
In its arms, and lifted me outside
Into the night, and upwards, passed the trees,
Higher, into the clouds of moonlit angel hair,
And higher, to the stars,
Where suddenly it let me go
And still I kept rising, and the mass of fireflies sang—
(I didn’t know fireflies sang),
And I rose to their shimmering chorus up,
Up until the moon grabbed me out of the sky
And swirled me over and over in her jet black hair
As a spider tumbles a fly in a web,
And I laughed as she spun me, for her hair
Was soft as wind, and she sang like the fireflies
An uncluttered lullaby—pure, incandescent, like
Rays of sunlight beaming through a morning forest,
And the more she wove, the more I could breathe,
And her song bathed around me every bit
As softly as her hair, and when she finished,
And I had tumbled one last time
I found myself drifting to sleep in her satin shrouded arms,
And somewhere nearby I could see
The fireflies forming a ring around us,
Encircling us in diamonds and glittering sapphires,
And I could feel her chest rise and fall
As she too began to sleep,
And the dreams we had that night
Were unlike any I have ever had.
To say they were resplendent
Would be putting it mildly—they were dreams
Of pure, radiant light—my mind and soul blazed
With brilliance, sang with silver, rang with bells
Of crystal, and I knew things—answers
To things—questions exploded like fireworks
And then drizzled towards me like
Ribbons of fireflies—because they were fireflies—
Each and every one of my questions was a firefly,
Every one of the answers was too,
And I knew right then and there,
Asleep in the arms of the moon,
Guarded by a legion of fireflies,
That the world, no matter how dark,
No matter how light, was made of light–
Light brighter than we could ever imagine, light
That made the darkness darker so as to illuminate
The way for angels carrying candles, light
That made the sun seem playfully small,
Light that made my problems and their solutions become bubbles of dew,
And everything, everyone was the chosen one,
Every atom, cell, strand of dancing DNA
Was chosen, and lit up from within
With a heavenly darkness,
And loved beyond measure,
Loved beyond fear, loved beyond doubt,
Loved beyond the wildest passions
One could ever hope for—loved beyond belief.
I knew these things asleep in the arms of the moon.
And when I woke I was in my bed,
And when I stood I stumbled,
And when I stumbled I stayed on my knees
And thanked the moon, the fireflies, the stars,
And when I rose to go tell the world
How the answers and the questions—how
Your heart and my heart, your body and my body, your soul
And my soul, your mind and my mind, are all made of light,
How we are all chosen, how we are all known,
And that the way to letting your light shine
Is to go, go through the darkness,
Go through the darkness
Until you sleep in the arms of the moon, like
A baby–when I rose to tell the world
I heard you say, what good will it do?
It’s not about good, I replied. It’s about knowing
That somehow, someway we are all OK,
We are all light destined for light, to hatch into light.
So right now, in this place, in this moment in time and space,
Take my hand, and rejoice, and go, I said,
Go into the darkness—
Run, stumble as I did, stumble for years if you have to, just go,
I will be by your side. Go until you see them—
Angels carrying candles, fireflies lanterning the path,
The moon opening her arms. Go.
Go and be loved by light swaddled in darkness until your own self-love
Dawns like a summer morning in the night of your self-hate.
I know. You’re right. I was wrong about what I said
At the beginning. I know you believe me.

 

 

 


 

 

 





Dream

Dream
By
Joseph Anthony Petro

 

 
Fireflies
You have broken my heart again.
I see your staccato signals,
I know you are rogue stars
Who let go of their moorings and escaped.
Oh how I long to be like you.

I know caterpillars dissolve
Into a hiding place of their own making.
I know all about that.
What I don’t know is: do they have faith in wings?
Do they believe they carry within themselves
A drop of air waiting to be freed?

I see flowers blooming at night,
I see the pink and purple sunsets
That were hiding all day behind the blue.
I know it is the coming darkness
Combined with dust and the disappearing sun
That makes the watercolor skies.

I hope when I am free of this cage—
When I am not beholden to what anyone thinks or says
Or what the mirror has been telling me
All these years—I hope I will shine, like
A galaxy of fireflies on a hot summer night,
I hope I will dance among the flowers—
Wings fluttering flamboyantly, baptized
By the clear, open light of day.
I hope when the stars of truth separate
From the backdrop void of lies
That I will find a place among the trees
And dazzle the world.