| *loolaville _poetry | |||||
| Like Mother Earth Herself There's a red line spread across my belly dividing my stomach just below my breasts; spread and dragged, formed and pressed by the weight around it sometime after my body traded in it's flat, young-girl plains for a more knobby terrain. It became my fault line marked by shifts and shakes that rattled every bone, every mass and crevice of my body with every quake forced by a finger at the back of my throat. There's a need for me to fall in love with this line, like as a child I loved the lines streaking puffy white behind airplanes in forever spacious blue skies. To trace it with a steady finger, as appreciative as I do across a lover's scar or that straight split of dirt where I planted snapdragons in the garden. It must become another part of me to embrace and welcome, folded into my flesh and silently reminding me of my gracious body built to contain and nurture life like Mother Earth herself. |
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