i find you in my solar plexus, a dense sphere of hardened resin.
you feel ancient.

i am the wall. i was built stone by stone when the world was sharp.
my job is to hold the perimeter.

what do you protect me from now? the air is soft here.

i remember the vibration of shouting. i remember the heat of shame.
big joy makes a big sound. visibility creates a target.
i keep you quiet. i keep you small. i keep you safe.

your weight in my body is so familiar.
you have kept the foundation from cracking.

luxury invites invasion.
i prefer the dense safety of a bunker.

i want to live now, beyond survival.
your strength is immense. i need your discernment.
help me build beautiful, soaring walls around my paradise.
your watchfulness can be the guardian at my golden gate.

she lay on her back in the tall grass.
her spine was a straight, rigid line against the uneven earth.
every pebble and root poked into her flesh like an accusation.
she felt like a piece of lumber dropped on a living surface.

she breathed into the stiffness.
a deep tremor ran through her legs, a familiar resistance.

then, a quiet shift.
a warmth began to creep from the soil into her skin.
her hips settled farther into the dirt.
the rigid line of her back softened, accepting the curve of the land beneath her.
her own weight felt like an anchor, finally holding her spirit inside her bones.

the thing in my belly was made of shale and grit.
it scraped against my ribs whenever someone looked for too long.

i went down there, into the body's wet cellar.
it stood in the corner, a pile of sharp, protective stones.
i offered it my own hand, palm up.
i showed it the feeling of warm water, of being held afloat.

the shale thing trembled.
it showed me the memory of being small and buried under heavy silence.
i sat on the damp floor and waited.

it extended one jagged piece of itself.
it laid the stone in my open palm.
a single, dark root sprouted from the stone, burrowed into my flesh, and found my pulse.
my whole body became resonant with its deep, geologic rhythm.

the cold stone in her solar plexus loosens.
a century of held breath escapes her lungs.

it is the memory of a splintered door, the metallic taste of fear.
a wave of nausea rises, then falls, carrying with it the frantic pulse of a woman she never knew.
the tremor moves downward, unlocking her hips with a shudder.

ancient salt water leaves her eyes.
the feeling pools in her womb, a deep and sudden warmth.

she feels the pull of the earth through the floorboards.
her feet are planted in dark soil.
the space inside her is her own now.
quiet, vast, and watered.

elara was a web for catching sharp feelings. a bitter thought from a neighbor would snag in her for days, leaving her feeling thin.

she began by standing on cool soil. she learned the feeling of the earth holding her, a vast and patient gravity.

a warmth started deep inside her. it was slow and thick like nectar. over seasons, it became a dense, golden honey. this sweetness filled the hollows behind her ribs and coated her bones.

she moved with a quiet weight. when envy was sent her way, it was like a dry seed falling on smooth stone. unkind words met her skin and simply dissolved. her own presence was a complete circle, held by the ground and full of her own quiet.

the yes bloomed in her solar plexus. a warm, open expanse.
leave.

the recoil. a cold fist clamped around her ribs. her throat tightened. stay small, stay safe. her muscles turned to lead. the density felt like tar, pulling her down.

she took a breath.
she felt her feet on the wooden floorboards.
she imagined roots sinking deep into the soil.

she breathed around the cold clench, allowing it to be there.
the warmth in her center continued its gentle spread.

she picked up the keys.
she walked toward the door.