I left my womanly spirit in the bog
to be preserved in a state of punishment.
I chose to go to work and eat an apple.
Birdsong became idle chatter
and I was too busy to notice clouds.
Storms shook my insides, distracting me
from my place in front of the screen.
I noticed places in the pillars
where vermin had eaten their way in.
I couldn’t bear to look at my own parts
for fear of cracking wide open
unleashing all the tears enough
to flood the world.
I think at the end, the bog will loosen
its hold and there will be freedom
but we won’t understand the difference.
Flowers can be clipped or wild
and still carry a colorful tune.
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