therapy with rhea

noun. /  love.

you use is frequently, but rarely mean it.

the only love you ever knew was the devouring kind,

the one your husband was known for,

and over time it hurt less so it become love,

at least,

the idea of it.

love you spent on your children,

the kind you thought would do good for this world.

see also: pain, gold, scars, you.

noun. /  loss.

you have your own dream

to grow old and watch hair turn to salt and pepper,

because in love comes stupidity,

and really you were just a child

when he took your hand on that altar,

but that child died as soon as he opened his mouth

and you opened yours to scream,

but no sound came out.

how could you possibly love a man like that?

see also: abyss, milk, child, gone.

noun. / homecoming.

you have lived in this world

for thousands of years,

but only now are you letting it take root in your mouth.

your children thrive and your chains are gone,

you are free, but why does it feel like you’re still grieving?

grieving for such a man is bad for your health.

who knows how long it will take

before your golden heart and mothering aura

turns into bottled appetites

and crumbling ash.

bitter, it must feel, how bitter.

see also: grief, fire, orchards, falling, citrus.

verb. / rest.

perhaps you’ll dig yourself a hollow grave

and leave a note for your sons,

and from the depths of the grains you’ll watch your children grow

into flowers with thorns and apple trees,

and perhaps they’ll give you the time to explain yourself

before you decide to leave,

or perhaps the rats will bury your words underground with you,

so that they may never be found,

and you don’t know which one is best.

see also: reckoning.