This Phoenix is done rising as if it exists only a s(u/o)n in context Of Mother Earth, Gaia beating her hands On linen left wet too long before the dryer Mildew blooming in flax stood stiff reaching down for roots it lost in weaving
Leave this ash to the dirt it reaches for May it revel in becoming soil
I don’t want you anymore. I don’t want me, the way you say it as if I don’t exist with your back turned I am done with the promises of burning of paying dues to dying, of waiting for ‘well’ and ‘healthy’ and ‘reliable’ as if I can meet any definition of ‘whole’ You will ever accept
So let me name myself ‘Partial’ for I am partial to the sea and the rocks and rivers that feed it. Plant me by my estuarine sisters who know what is to be from two worlds and belong to neither and we will be content in ourselves.