Something will be birthed of this

In my readiness I go looking. I seek the one who holds the scissors, the key and the fingerbone. I call out and she answers. Her fierce aspect bars the way. Incisor on incisor, a delicacy of force, releasing the contained, unleashing the concealed. I am ready I am ready. I give everything I have become. I think it is the price of admission.

It is not.

She takes everything I offer. And leaves me standing. The cold is at my throat. 

“It is a gift,” she says.

Stitch the wind back into my bones now. The day is new. I will wear indigo and plant my feet squarely.

Hear this. We begin.


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