what’s churning inside of me is
the heating seas,
is a tornurricanefire.
churn as in making butter
from cream,
solidifying separating.
it’s the land i want to run from this time,
because it’s the Land i know
i need to Love.
Love as in tiny, tiny
movements of dirt
and dance as prayer.
Love as in accepting thorns in my soles,
rocks and fruit sullying my feet,
and remaining unafraid of blood.

i smell gardens full of roses,
bending and snapping
and nearly passing out each time
as my heart can’t keep up
with my desire for beauty.
no one warned me i’d want to thrive
during the apocalypse.
i was only told grief comes in waves
so on the days i feel like collapsing,
i know i’m doing just fine.
on the days i get to dance,
i know we are going to win the war
we never agreed to fight.