I would like to dig my own grave with my bare hands.
Death, my usher, please allow me this last plea,
With soil caked under wilted nails
And wedged between sunken palm lines,
Weathered joints snapped from cold, hardened Earth
A lungful of petrichor inhaled deep as She splits.
When finished, I may finally find my peace,
Accepted unto Her, the body now tethered like soul.
In this, I am no longer her’s but Her’s,
Definitively, knowing a Mother’s embrace.
Abi Fauver is a longtime lover of writing constantly looking to grow and improve. She is based in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia where she often finds inspiration from the nature surrounding her. Her current inspirations for writing are based on her ongoing spiritual journey, going back to her roots, and gender empowerment.