Seething through the floor boards,
hacking through walls,
laughing down the chimney,
giving up the past,
recruiting all her limbs,
revisiting all her loves,
she squeezed in through her pores
and made herself some blood.
Her eyes were leery,
would not see,
her neck, heavy with brown dirt,
fingers stroking round her bones
etching out her skin.
Finally, she built the place of magic,
a curious mix of hope and uncertainty,
so she is sure that
when the time is right,
she’ll find the proper place
to put the holes
for air.
After the traumas, the sins, the wrong directions–when soul returns to body–there is the work, the building of a place to breathe.
© Andrea Mathews, 2014
Photo by enzzok.diviantart.com