And as if expression poured out of a hallowed harrowed body, out came the unspoken, all that was hell bent on not being bent. She decided she would squirm. She would write. She would chase that bounty that she knew she had, that she felt in some gatherings, in moments where there was meaning to be sought. She just knew. She had to.
There was a cloudy morning when all that became iridescent out of a steady violence sublimated on people’s faces as they turned the camera on themselves. When you sat on the wet earth and hoped that like her, you will forget and be bountiful again; that you would try to let go. When you would walk the tilled earth and feeling her between the furrows of your toes want to sit down on your haunches and absorb her fertility, and let her absorb your pain. Sometimes the shady gallows are broken forth and the will of the earth reigns.