Crimson Like Me

Juiced like a pomegranate I sit in that primordial garden
Feet raw and bare, cushioned by a flush of dandelions, those
blooming yellow buds tanging with the bitter sap of their taproot.
In time, we will both turn white and wispy, and with a lingering puff of
Divine breath, we shall be snuffed from this dark, rich earth –
herbaceous weed and fragile human seed.

Serpentine fiend, you creep to prey upon my solitude
But even these heavy-headed wildflowers shy away from your vile
and contemptuous plans. They warn of your insipid tongue,
always grasping, feeling, tasting the air of which you will rob
so many who will come after my time. Troublesome worm,
you’ve burrowed through the fruit that bleeds out upon this ground,
dripping nectar down through the limbs of a tree, crimson like me.

What an unoriginal sin of mine it would be to
Lop the head off this slithering stranger, an easy release
Just as the yellow top of a dandelion might come loose with a
satisfying pop borne from the quick slip of a determined finger.
Would he bleed into this earth, cold juice of life mingled with
the warmth I have shed? Such savagery, but then again
many years from now, when I am moldering in the dirt
will it not be written that a woman would kill for her children?

***

Maddison O’Donnell is a writer and digital publishing professional who splits her time between the US, the UK, and Ireland. She holds two Bachelor of Arts from The Pennsylvania State University and a Master of Arts from William & Mary.