Mother
Microfiction | I am crooked shadow beneath gnarled, ancient boughs. I am breeze whispers, languid and lonely over hollows.
I am crooked shadow beneath gnarled, ancient boughs. I am breeze whispers, languid and lonely over hollows. I am wilted, sweet decay, spooling from faded colors. I am devout armored insects chanting to long-dead stars. I am forked flames called down from dry storm clouds to lick and devour and cleanse.
You linger on my stoop beyond haunted spills of wooded dusk. I taste your foul smoke snarled out of season in my hair. Hear your cackling, screeching squabbles. Feel your axe strokes tremble through soil and root. You hunger. You ravage. You squander and pollute.
You call me Mother.
