All I see is up
The pink flower stretches to forever at the sky
I stare wishing to be among the clouds
Its anterior filters the sun’s warmth upon my soft arms
I sit upon the dark, sodden, summer earth
I am all to myself. Alone.
At home under their stems
So benign am I encased by the pink flower
The pink flower trembles under slight hand of a summer breeze
Honeyed are its petals,
But dangerous is its center
Pricking my delicate fingers
If I am not careful
Yet I watch a dragonfly land on it with grace Fragile insect legs grip tightly at the miniature pointed peaks
Wind caresses wisps of hair around my petite face
I am like a fairy
Not knowing the wonders of the world
Only the kingdom of the pink flower
Moisture sweetens the air
Drenching it with the breath of nature
Almost as if a mother is breathing comfort into my small body
Back to the whirlwind of starting from scratch.
Alone in I sit and watch
as the world moves beneath me, around me, surrounding me and blanketing me with coolness.
Winter months are the best because they make me wonder and think clearer.
I'm waking to a fresh kind of birth where I can leave behind my struggles and venture forth into the great unknown.
And the white starkness of sky that was once bright blue awakens my true frozen heart, deep in slumber,
to pulse a red purplish bruise that hurts, then soothes.
That's what this season is all about.
Preservation, hibernation, incubation, proclamation, prioritization.
It is the Root Cellar holding all that is dear.
It preserves the best parts of me so so I won't mold and crumble away.
I sit, soaked in vinegar, ripening.
I sleep, preserved in thick viscous jelly, not solid, but swishy.
I guess winter lets me breath as I try to wriggle out of the glass jar encasing my body.
It's hard, and a little slippery.
I am soaked in purplish red blood.
I am born to the rain soaked land, wishing it would snow.
But alas, it only welcomes me to a season so familiar that tears start to form in my eye corners.
Wet and shivering, I open the Root Cellar's door with a creak, and step into guerdon.
blessed and gifted
What more to ask
What more to wish for
You carry your blood
You can sing a lullaby
put her to sleep
Your sweet angel
But you cry in disgust
for the gift you have
while others were deprived of
Didn't you know
I was wanting your place
Blessed are thy womb
that you cannot see
I grew pregnant with my past,
unable to separate from the reality that began as a seed inside me.
Submerged in water, I tried to released you-
my past, my dear child...
but this bath of death,
flooded with the thick red of fluid despair,
held us closer together.
i want you,
twirling in my womb
under the moon at twilight
as i dance my way into whimsical decisions.
I feel you tap,
at the lining of my uterine wall.
i want you,
i do not.
Sentiment is blinding.
My dear child...
you are not good for me,
though I hold you with eternal warmth.
I am your mother, you are my past.
I open my eyes,
I’m back in the steam of my hazy bath
like an aquatic portal in the corner of comfort and suicide.
The red is gone... yet it was never there.
All that remains is my fetal past pulsing perfectly.
My stomach breaks the grey pond within porcelain,
pertruding through the patches of rose colored suds.
Closing my eyes never looked so dark, the blackest black
like my favorite dreams.
My head falls back and the red liquid returns,
hugging the crevices of my face,
filling my hollow orifices,
pulling my life far enough to look over me
with pursed lips and one crystal tear...
i am submerged,
yet all I hear are whispers in this bed made of water
singing me lullabies as I drift into a synthetic evening.
I am tucked in, dreaming of the lightest light in the darkest black.
The contrast helps me understand life’s cogs and screws.
i place my pruned fingers on my pregnant stomach,
my fragile past..
You will not leave me, so I must leave you.
My life’s gentle claws let me go
and bursts through the sun and clouds,
as gravity holds me close to his chest and kisses my cheek bones.
I see the light in the laughing stars,
I lay lifeless,
belly full of a dead past.
my dear child.
© 2016 D.M.V
From deep within the cavern of my heart
a stream of truth is rising.
Like clear water rising through
the rock of ages
It caresses the rock
softening its edges, leaving it
still strong and sure.
From deep within the womb of my body
a seed of truth is rising, warming to
the sweetness of a newly radiant heart.
From deep within the jewel of my heart
the light of love is shining.
Vast is the one unbounded space
within me, all around me.
Vast is the one lovely moment
which is right here,
and which is right now.
The location of the biological clock is complex.
Situated somewhere between my body
and everyone else's business.
Turning my womb into a property
everyone feels free to voice their opinion on.
As an elder woman turns to me and says:
"Now you're the only one left! Surely you'll be next."
Pressure disguised in encouragement.
One I am hesitant to slander, so I walk away,
politely, as if it were just a simple fender bender.
Remarks and expectations thrown at me.
Everyone's opinion picking scabs to wounds
inside me nobody even knows exist.
Irrecoverable lacerations I will carry with me
until the end of my days.
Tik Tok goes the clock; perhaps it was a knock?
The message always the same: "Hurry up or you'll fall behind."
I slowly reach for the instrument measuring my time,
I tempt my fate a little while longer
by reluctantly snoozing my biological clock.
I wonder what the first thing you touched was
When you escaped the womb
Besides your mother and father
Any other family members
Doctors and other trinkets that assist
Or are given in the hospital
What was the first thing you laid your hands on with intent
A piece of a butterfly wing
Your new soft Teddy
Glow in the dark star
Newly found birth-mark
I wonder what you have seen
Before you saw me
That has made your heart, your eyes, your skeletal composition,
your tremendous amount of insides
Go off balance
New toy that’s on the market
A train set
The cute girl in your first grade class
That you couldn’t talk to normally
You teased her
What have you heard
That harmonized with your soul
Your ghost, your physical form
Before your left ear
Caught a trickle of my sigh
Soon my voice that would follow
A gentle lullaby
Your mother used to sing to you at night
Your favorite song
I can no longer remember the name of
I just know it went
“You are my peach, you are my plum”
What have you smelt
That is your aroma therapy
Besides my conditioner
My old lady perfume
Was it your own soap
A pastry baking in the oven
Or was it something I find foul
Like mushrooms, maybe
A scented candle
An old Grand Piano
I wonder what you thought
When you found out you loved me
Did it bring attention to all five of your senses
Which one is your strongest
Obviously it is not your sense of taste
Otherwise you’d love me more than her saliva
The wet green rock
That is our world
Floats round and round
A flaming torch
That sends its rays
Through cold dark space
To warm the air and land
And thus is formed
The womb and tomb
In which we live
Our mortal days
And pained we dream
Of other realms
To lay beyond this sphere