Goosepen. Basal hollow. Tree cavity.
Place to put your woman. Where
fire and fungi change hands, where
cut becomes cavern and falls through
the earth. Like the first image of
a black hole. A vulva burning open.
Closer, webbed lace of moss like
lingerie, languid leaves turning over
in sun. Twist of bark like glance over shoulder,
like children circling maypole
with ribbon trailing fingers. Days
wrapping their arms around her
like a wrung out towel.
Fog for breakfast. Trying not to lie down.
Root curved like pelvic inlet reaching for
the end of itself. Ferns pushing up,
yelling broken water!
Unfurling like a promise.
The death end of things, or not.
Heartwood burning but green taking
its place. Something young for something
old, pushing out life then sucking it back in,
light and shadow
and hollow and hollow and hollow,
a place to go when you are burning
and want to burn.
Alison Landes is a women's health nurse and sometimes neglectful cat mom living in San Francisco. She writes on the themes of trauma and womanhood, often on the nearest paper towel, often between snuggles with other people’s babies.