Shamaness

I remain a stranger to my husband’s kin it’s strange I miss their stranger’s skin but bring taboo to skin they’re in if words I speak upon their name I hide my words in fear of harm displease the trees who delivered man and breezed them on a wind to farm the land trees put aside for them in my hands, a harp I made bear and eagle, age they gave a single reed cut from a blade shamanic lines taught me to play so free was I in what I say so put to lips and plucked with breath my voice through brass at times bamboo you will find it placed in my burial alongside my husband and his voice too