Her

3/3/24

It’s funny how everything goes back to her

We’re born

We live

We die

When we’re buried, we go back to her

When I die, I want to be cremated

And thrown to the ocean

Let me travel the world

And be one with the waves

My fingers

So long and delicate

The twigs of a tree

My arms, my legs

The sturdy branches

My fingerprints

The markings of the bark

The stretch marks on my hips

My stomach

Under my arms

My thighs

The lighting

Striking across the night sky

Sharp and bright

But beautiful

The ripples of skin over muscle

The soft kneading of my doughy layers

The lines

The maze of lines crossing my skin

The ocean’s waves

Sliding over each other without ceasing

The cracks in the desert

The dunes of sand on the beach

My face my arms my legs

Filled with holes and scars

Tiny eruptions and craters of skin and tissue

The numbers uncountable

The stars in the sky

The pinpricks of light in the darkness

The face of the moon

Craters of rock and dirt

Scarred, but beautiful

My eyes

My windows

The rolling fields of grass and wheat

The deep rich earthy soil

The clear sky

The cool rain

The hairs on my arms and legs

The trees in a forest

The grass in a field

The waving layers upon layers

Of plant, of leaf, of branch

All of it so beautiful

All of me so beautiful

And so connected

To each other

To myself

To her