Writing by Molly Reed. Artwork by Kate Granholm (@katesartthings on Instagram)
It was springtime
When I gave birth to the darkness.
Amidst petals unfurling like sellotape,
And branches shedding their wings of frost,
She peeled herself from the lining of my uterus.
A child stained with blood and rot,
Clawing its way out of me.
She sprouted into a woman-
Eyes filled with blood
And lips lined with steel,
That sucked sleep and gold dust from my
Throat in the early hours
Of the morning.
She clung to my hair like vines,
Digging claws into warm folds of fat,
Stripping my skin of light.
She clung to me
Until my throat filled with cotton wool
And blood poured from broken eyelashes.
And so as winter approaches,
I wrap her in silk and cover her mouth with my
Fist.
Rip the metal from her mouth
And clog her eyes with cellophane.
I kiss her goodbye,
Tenderly,
On flesh thick with mold.
I bury her in a wooden casket
Deep beneath the green rind of the
Earth
And whisper-
Goodbye.
I fucking
Hate
You.
As winter approaches,
I free myself from her blood-stained shackles.
I let ice settle like steel on her
Corpse
And clasp my hands together in prayer.
Making space for the springtime -
For the ashen sunlight and swathes of ink blue
Sky,
For the flowers ripping out of barren earth,
The honey that tastes like breath.
Making space for something new
Something ripe
In a body slightly less
Broken.