“Should I tell him?” she asked Mugwort?
From over her shoulder she heard mama sigh. Leaning deeper into the fragrant leaves, she felt her belly shift, like water coming to rest at the bottom of a bowl. The leaves clattered in the towering cottonwood and the sharp smell of Mugwort rose into the air, swaddling her.
Reaching deeper still, the world spun. She sank to the ground, hands and knees flat on the earth. For a moment, the sun went dark. Roots began to wind from her open palms, spiraling deep into the ground. For a brief of moment, she could feel the mycelium, the vast fungal network linking… everything. And for just the briefest of moments, she felt the persistent thirst of melancholy, flow from below, through her belly, down her legs and back into the dark soil.
And then, it was done. The leaves rustled above her. The smell of late-afternoon flooded her nose. Lightly shaking, she rose to her feet. Stepping carefully around the stands of Mugwort, she made her way back to the path, alone.
…
The little jar of seeds on the bedside table had kept her bleeding every month. In the thick silence of early morning, before the birds had even begun to ruffle their feathers, she gently unscrewed the lid. Scraping the side, she pulled a seed out and brought it close. It sat, small and hairy, almost like a spider, on the pad of her finger. Frowning, she blew it away with a sharp exhale.
She stood from the bed, stretching into her lower back, where the cramps should have been. Marcus, in bed, shifted, reaching for her.
“S’matter?” he asked thickly?
“Nothing” she bent, kissing his forehead. “Go back to bed.”
….
Three days later she returned, the life unlived cradled in her folded arms. Thick mist painted her body in dew drops. Alone, In the muffled quiet of damp mornings, she gently unscrewed the lid and, at the place where stem becomes root, she poured life into the earth.
Over her shoulder, she heard mama sigh.
Home Sweet Home 