Writing
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"The Dead Garden" in Solstice Magazine
Lotus Like
by
Sybil Wilen It always starts like this. I feel a fire in my belly that grows fast until it becomes a raging inferno and explodes through my lungs and travels my spine, crackling down my arms and legs, and finally filtering through my digits.
When I feel I can contain it no longer, it erupts and I am petal soft with new pink skin. My roots are deeply wedged in Mother.
I no longer need his appendage pressed against my sacred spot. His passion is spent – gone, his distrust evaporated.
I gave him sons, he gave me this flame.
And here I am again with this fire in my belly. It grows.
