I once woke up
in wild winter,
paralyzed by change,
when claws emerged
and storms surged
sunken snow and
white wombs
from where I came.
In mere months,
seduced by scents,
spanned by veins,
I unfolded into sun,
blossomed in rain
with vernal wings–
a quivering,
unconfident display.
Then the splash–
summer’s solstice,
and dash of depths,
when I submerged,
floundering and
cursed to accept
annulled remorse,
until lungs
surfaced again.
By the time
it was autumn,
seasoned and ready,
I left it all behind–
the glacier
and blue
icy truth of you:
striated river of tears,
slow-moving
misogynist,
seeker of the shear
story that never ends.
In just a year,
I found strength beyond
the fossil fixed in granite,
once living:
our memory.
Cognitive neuroscientist by day, creative writer by night, Marigo J. Stathis has a proclivity for addressing women’s issues and uncomfortable themes, including the broken bones that families and societies sometimes bury. Her poems have previously been published in several print publications, including The Baltimore Sun, The Baltimore City Paper, Bear Creek Haiku, Lite Magazine, and Facedown.