7-6

I’m unfurling within, delicately rising spirals like the soft velvety new curls of a fern leaf shivering awake under the sun. It feels like a good stretch, like a tired body after a day in the lake, catching the scent of something familiar and long-missed. 

I am crawling out of the fetid mud to warm dry earth. It’s been there all along, waiting to welcome me back, but you were there in the mire, inches from shore. I sat with you in the wet for too long, folding inward, begging you to move with me.

I finally went on without you. I pulled myself up the bank.

Now my skin itches as the filth tightens and dries, but there is glowing white skin underneath. I’m rising, brushing off the flakes of clay, flexing my feet and craving movement. It’s time for me to go.