The depths of my infertility
I imagine were blue.
Nooo,
Not sky blue.
Dark blue.
The part of the ocean
You can’t explore.
Beyond that.
A blue you can’t even
Comprehend,
Lit up only by the light
Of a creature
You fear to discover.
The creature’s light
I imagine is yellow.
A buried ray of sunshine
Far below the surface.
I thought only monsters lived
This deep.
The surface it guided me towards
I imagine is green.
You know that green
You think is blue,
But really it’s green?
Yet you put your hand through it
To discover really
There’s no color
At all.
You surface.
You breathe.
You persevere.
You swim.
In blues,
And greens,
Then purple,
Then grays,
A red boat,
An orange fruit,
Goodness.
A world of colors now
From the monster
I followed
In the darkest of blues.
About the Creator
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She looked at her son. He was a man now really. Moments came when she saw glimpses of the boy he once was but rarely and they were snatched by her when he didn't know that he was being scrutinised by someone trying to make sense of who this person was, what he would become.
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making space
Since the only thing that might pull us back up is caring, it only makes sense that here, long after I’ve let my anger born of heartbreak and grief misplace, multiply, misdirect itself, let the enormity of my solitude turn into something I don’t know how to dispute with, something thick and heavy and suffocating, let the coldness thrash and fight under my skin, deeper still, in between the arches of my organs; here where the ground is always close and the fall is easy and I surrender to it often, lie without purpose for hours, it only makes sense that it is here, I decide to show up and surrender to the possibilities of the night. Show up to those who I deserted. Drawn to the sense of accomplishment, something I haven’t felt in a while, to memory of finished dish sending its aroma into the world and with it, wrapping the room with a strong sense of sweet nostalgia, I get up and decide to cook. I pick up my phone, type a message that reads “Dinner at mine @ 8PM, don’t bring anything” and before my courage deserts me again, drop it in our friends’ group chat, the way one would do when diffusing a bomb in the movies: one eye closed, snip at the wire, hoping for the best.
By Mesh Toraskarabout 13 hours ago in Feast
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