Us by Christina Hiras

Outside, a small calf yearned for a place in my heart, walking with feeble knees, weak from the seductive warmth that brewed deep within the cauldron that was my love. I opened my soul like an old maiden allowed in the crisp bite of autumn’s air to her kitchen of dreams. I admit now that my rolling paddies and ancient temples have the ability to ward off inquiring travelers and pull in thirsty beasts, but this is something that was released long ago from Pandora’s box—so please, conclude not what you may. I want the living to bask in my embrace, teeth clenched to keep all life on their feet and wondering. I feel you now, young one. I hear your sweat creep and I see your thoughts race. I admire your steadfast devotion to relentlessly deter the small savages that pry for your rear’s youthful blood in the name of being, and for this, I wish you prosperity.

When we first met, you were as young as you were when you guarded yourself under your linen tomb on the day you propelled below and into my heart. And once you came under, you were transported to the days in the smiling garden when you, too, felt stable in your love for adventure. Now that love has brought you to a crossroads, my young calf, with your shivering knees—shivering for the fear of finding a stable love in a place foreign to both your senses and thoughts—and you ponder life feeling love for neither adventure nor stability. But my paddies continue to grow with each concern you have for my tired soul, and that is on the grocery list for my ever-churning kitchen of dreams. So I leave you now, uneasy in front of my wrath, to decide.


I immediately let open my mind with confidence in my worldly fears to say that I never want to close my eyes to your salient perfection, my dear Mother, for I want your images to be burned into my memory for all eternity of each soul that begs for your sweet nectar added up and multiplied so powerfully it would take the strength of our faithful sun and cunning moon to decipher. I lay my mortal flesh with pride beyond the security of your temple gates, no longer pretending in my daydreams or gel sandals. But I wonder Mama, what makes your beauty so vast? I give myself to you, shedding the tremble in my knees and voice, and I grow from my calf-like state into a warrior for your honor. Not all of my childish habits have evaporated, though; I still suck the generosity of your spirit to fill me with just enough magic. Now, our wild souls unite and we stride together in your Kingdom.

You taught me to feel the pain of your mourning forests, now exposed to the minds of the wandering beasts, so pain I feel. But simultaneously, Mother, you taught me that sometimes forfeiting works best, so I pacify my doubtful mind and quench my heart’s thirst for the adventurous road of love.


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