Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER
Through trauma burnt lips I tell the story.
Words fall through charred and crusted skin shedding itself, so fresh flesh can finish growing.
I must give it time
and space
and distance
and absolutely no interruption.
This story is not my only story.
But it is one that hangs heavily from every part of me; I’ve never felt so weighted.
Ear lobes
droop
like thick custard spilt,
Fingers crouch in anticipation,
Fear chafes between my thighs with
a heat so wild that I think at times my uterus is going to…
thud beneath me.
There have been times where I have wished my reproductive system would cease to exist.
And then no one would ever look at me again.
Gawking and clawing stops,
And the fog recedes,
Blurry visions glaze my eyes
As colour burst forth
I am blooming.
And then
the rain
draws
back,
The sun blesses the morning,
Desert blankets the earth,
Clay pots pepper my surroundings,
Each lip overflowing with water,
And though I am tired,
I bathe,
I drink,
and I dance in
every drop of
the Universe,
In the ripe falling rain I hold a little girl,
Burnt orange freckles peppering her face,
Bracken locks curling shyly against her chin,
I hold her and I weep,
“Look at how I saved this woman from despair”.