Motherland 08/01/21

 Land to me means property.

Ownership.

Possession. 

So I own my body, 

Live in it, breathe in it, inhabit it, 

                                                Possess it. 

                                              

I am the motherland. 

As I explore my body, 

I discover, 

My eyes are pools, my hair is a river,

My nose a jagged rock and my lips,

A sort of dune.

My cheeks are mountain slopes, 

My chin a blunt cliff edge, 

Teeth like tiny pebbles in my cavernous mouth, 

Through which words flow, 

stories flow,

rivers flow, 

And then, 

              A sort of calm. 

My feet are the roots that ground me, 

But they are roots I can dig up,

And replant, 

Wherever I like. 

Whenever I like. 

Again and 

               again and 

                              again and,

I am the motherland. 

Mother to me means nurture, 

Affection.

Protection. 

So I nurture my body. 

I feed her, I clothe her,  I nourish her, 

I take care of her. 

I keep her well groomed,

And I smooth out the rough edges. 

Each morning I welcome the sun, 

And each night I send him away again.

When I feel her start to collapse, 

I listen to the drip,

Drip 

Drip 

Of rain upon her cheeks ,

Her cheeks the streets,

Of smiles. 

I thank her, 

for everything she does,

Encompasses,

Allows me to be. 

When the meaning of home is not fixed, 

Because colonies drift,

And ice caps melt,

And the spare room is no longer spare,

Who else can be your motherland, 

But you. 

[See the physical version of this poem published in @MadWomxn Magazine]