All is water in becoming,
from storm to still lake surface
and back again to rage,
divine strength lifting waves
from oceans I nearly drowned in,
while patient as an embryo
is the river’s return home.
An army of unfound girls tangle
together like roots fled down.
That’s the way I look at broken things
now: wayward seedlings, I wish
I’d known you, grown you like
the wind wouldn’t have her mourning,
like the fire weren’t already
on her way. I let go of the raft
that the others still cling to
and drift away on my own: woman,
alive, with death in her belly,
dripping from her textured skin
like smoked-out honeycomb.
Lilith
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Lizzy Burnam 🐞 
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