Spring Equinox: Her

This is a quick piece I wrote last night during my Sunday night writing group. It has not been edited and it is not finished, but as it is Spring Equinox today I figured I would share it anyway. But enough of these apologies. Here.

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Her legs grow up from underground, her spine is the equator;

Hot and electric,

each vertebrae stacking

and un-stacking as she spreads herself across the globe.

 Her brain stem the core of the world.

The tectonic plates of her shoulders press together

when she’s worried or upset;

relaxing into deep waters when she sleeps.

Each limb is an ecosystem

And she has many;

More than you can count

Each arm emergent and bustling with busy lives

of bees and inchworms, katydids and whales

half of which are dying out

as she watches, giving all of herself but losing it all the same.

It’s a bit morbid, to think of her there- buried in the ground

sprouting trees from acorns fallen into animal carcasses.

But she is not alone. She has the world to care for.

And as a mother, there is nothing else but your offspring,

to offer. Your womb’s handiwork, your baby blues

blinking at the Sun,

gazing upwards from the oceans--