and from my body

grow the trees

you chop down

with you careless acts

I am ocean

for from my womb

all beings are birthed

I am desert

my long, voluptuous dunes

now burnt to drought

by August sun

my blood

the dyeing rivers

you pollute

with discarded greed

and selfish denial

my breasts

are sacred mountains

climbed for your egos sake of reaching the top

your summit

my nipple

without soft, tenderness of touch

that is required for such a holy journey

you, who call me home

I am not something to be bought or sold

I am alive

and in the eyes of every living creature

you will find me

their mother

mirrored back to you

do you dare look?

can you hold my gaze?

while you run your fingers through my sunlit hair of wheat at harvest?

that same nourishing grain you paint with poison for your benefit?

and do you care?

when you stain the path of this delicate wrist as you wind your way along my enchanted forest of pine?

you, my child,

who call yourself king

have scratched my skin raw

etching your name across virgin land

dark bruises mark my thighs

as you drill into the deepest marrow of these bones

searching for more gold

more silver

more of my life giving waters

you continue to ask for more

more of my precious milk

more of my cherished stone

you always want more

and I give it

again and again and again

I give

but now, my pets

I have run dry

I crack, I moan and I quake

I break open in pain

I am rain

I burn, I flame, I heat

I erupt with the force of my grief

and then

I cry

for days and days and days

I cry

and you, my dears

still look to my husband’s heavens

asking why

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