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  • Cece Foley

Venus Retrograde

Updated: Sep 11, 2023

Heart feels tender on this August Sunday.


Driving back to Moab from Fort Collins, and now the sun is out to embrace the verdant hills after some hours of peaceful rain.


I remember the white yarrow flower and blood red cherry that I placed next to one another as a reminder to soften, as a reminder that we all come from the same place.

That we all want to feel held in sunshine and blue sky, in whisped up cumulus.


I miss a version of myself that I remember as more trusting and loving.

I hope I'm relearning how to be open and kind.

Of course, it is circuitous.

Of course, I am returning to memory.

Of course, I am only trying to grab hold of a sunbeam who shuffles across my periphery.


And as I return to my memories, I steep them in chamomile,

peach, honey, and something green.

I soak them in gray mornings and the smell of coffee,

drape a puffy comforter over them once they have slipped back into dream.


Can I keep the home in myself warm?

I have been lucky.

I see candle light and bellies on the carpet. Bouquets and green vines.

Jars of herbs, a cat. A windowsill full of knick-knacks.

Notes from mom in my lunch. The camping gear we used to pack.

The railroad tracks over the red run river.

The blue ghosts blinking while your stoned arm rested on my shoulder.

The fireworks that filled my pupils, overflowed my soul.


I remember. I remember.




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