If I were an owl, I would haunt you in your dreams.
You waken in the Dreamtime to find me
staring at you with outstretched wings
You know that this is the moment you have been waiting for
the moment I need your attention.
A deep guttural sound will start
to rise within your chest
as you wrench your inner owl into existence.
It’s not easy to release
your true self buried beneath
the façade of your cultural armour.
The cry of your rebirth
reaches your throat,
hideous in its rasping rawness.
Too long have you denied your ability to sing
out to the night.
I will haunt you until you do.
(c) Cheyenne MacMasters 2013