When the Earth Remembers

 

I never realized my bones were made of timber. Or that sap coated my joints. The ground holds all the earth’s tales. Screams mulch into whispers. Cloaked in grime.

 

The light is a trick of the surface, rooted in the undertow.

I got so caught up in the way it flickers, I forgot my legs can no longer lift out of the mud, that each step plants me deeper into the earth. Scrubbing myself clean peels back skin. I fear the inscriptions within the layers. Veins seeping into the dust.

 

If you stop for a moment. You might notice the ant farm burrowing into your chest. There is a trail of creatures picking apart the rust that crumbles with every movement. Turning sorrow into soil.

 

Vines crawl into the wounds of the land. The clay drinks where the stones are split. Echoes of memories are allowed to dance across the skyline.

We were never meant to understand the stars. We were only meant to slowly become them.