I’ve been carrying
a weight on my shoulders,
which I don’t remember lifting.

Black smoke rises from my sizzling skin.

You stoke the fire, but deny the arson.

Stifled screams
pile up inside of me,
turning my ribcage
into chambers of torment.

Blow up.
Shatter.
Cracked bone.
Poison blood.
Lived memory.

I hear the collective howl
of thousands
of women before me.

Underneath the rage, there is longing.

Pain
pours out of me in blood
staining the soil.

Our Mother absorbs it.
And yet still,
she grows flowers.

Why can’t we take
even one step closer?

I’m tired of reaching
my hands out
through the aether.

Come find me.

I’ll wait
at the scorched golden field
where fury and yearning meet.

Glowing through the fever smoke.