Mother by Joan J. Bell

I plunge

into the Earth’s icy veins, 

My heartbeat thundering in my ears

as I splutter

Her blue blood stains my lips

like I am a necrophiliac

or worse – 

a parasite on her corpse

left to ponder my own fading lifeforce.

I claw at Her thick skin,

Yearning to break through no matter how much pain it causes

No longer caring if She cries out for me to stop,

to let Her swallow me with darkness and warmth.

My tears are Her ocean

a gentle demise 

rocking me to sleep the way all good mothers do.

My chest cleaves into two,

burning so badly even She cannot quell the fire.

Every trip

I’ve ever taken flutters

past my eyelids

like shooting stars.

I think only of the constellation of scars I have left on Her body

as I wither to sleep in Her arms.