Mother by Joan J. Bell
I plunge
into the Earth’s icy veins,
My heartbeat thundering in my ears
as I splutter
Her blue blood stains my lips
like I am a necrophiliac
or worse –
a parasite on her corpse
left to ponder my own fading lifeforce.
I claw at Her thick skin,
Yearning to break through no matter how much pain it causes
No longer caring if She cries out for me to stop,
to let Her swallow me with darkness and warmth.
My tears are Her ocean
a gentle demise
rocking me to sleep the way all good mothers do.
My chest cleaves into two,
burning so badly even She cannot quell the fire.
Every trip
I’ve ever taken flutters
past my eyelids
like shooting stars.
I think only of the constellation of scars I have left on Her body
as I wither to sleep in Her arms.