I've been on a journey
from fundamentalist damnnearquiverfullchristian complete with pro-life bumperstickers slapped on the back of a rusty buick
to mother of five
on my back
on a doctor's table
listening to the whir of a vacuum between my
right in the center of me, right at the core of me
afterwards, trying to make some sense of this life of mine I'm trying to piece together, I pull a piece of copper from the ratty nest my children had made of it and formed it into an ankh
trying to ground myself in some sort of meaning, save myself from this existential crisis, pull on
my ancestors for some hope.
Another, thinner strand of copper
I'm stringing citrine, tears and garnet
wrapping and asking whatever was greater than me, "what
does all this even mean anyway?"
It's a heavy piece of jewelry, unraveling from carrying
trying to remind myself
that I exist
and there was
some beauty in me anyway or else how could have made
something worth keeping?
These questions about loving myself make me cry.