Member-only story
This year I’m becoming my own home.
call me crazy but
I will spend this year becoming my own home
I will measure the corners of this container
sprinkle her top to bosom with soul stardust
spilling excess along the edges
filled
filled
Full
build a cradle for my inner child against her picture windows
run my fingers along the wagon ruts of stretching stomach
turn over the soft soil of birth
I will honor the fires and tend the coals of
ancestral lands in my belly
grow seeds of suspended disbelief
cry tears of curiosity
wonder at the salt on my too long too tied
tongue
I will unravel ligaments and histories
sinew
marrow
muscle
bone
tender
Tender
tendon stretching across time and space
I will admire the deep crevasses of white washed scars
knees and knuckles — the fight and fractions of an old wood floor
the split…
