In the Bog

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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