Maybe when you were a child your father always shook down the wasp nest
or took to it with a bat until it exploded into Northern Lights.
And most people assumed it would always be your father doing that,
were never able to see how your mother already was:
sending beacons of light out into the world through her stomach
after her body had already taken so much beating like the nest itself.
Maybe as you grew up you learned women are born with all the eggs
they’ll ever have, and maybe when the doctor said you weren’t able
to have children, you thought for just a split second
you’d cracked the eggs too hard when having sex,
that all the yolk had splattered down like the remains of a tiny bird,
and if you just prayed hard enough to whomever it is some women pray to
they’d give you more that you could balance better next time.
Maybe the rain, even at its most ferocious pressure,
makes your skin feel safer than any man’s touch ever did or ever will.
Maybe the rain has a body you’d feel comfortable in.
And maybe the stone fruits, peaches and apricots and cherries, make you wistful
that your heart is so soft and ripe and ruined so easily
in just a few seconds when someone else wanders in.
But shhh, shhh. You do have a will of stone.
You have beauty and resolve like a mountain wall.
You are going to last longer than you know.
Maybe you can finally think of yourself as the sea
instead of the shore:
For the sea always rises up, time and time again,
no matter how many times the whale
threatens to spill it over.
This is beautiful. Can someone please slam this? Because omg talk about powerful!!