On Beauty & the Wasteland - v.3 / issue 3 - Sandtrap

On Beauty & the Wasteland
V. 3 / issue 3

Sandtrap

I hate playing in the sandbox. 

Thirsty, sunburnt, exposed.

Becoming carrion.

Maybe I can tolerate the cool wet sand underneath? 

I burrow my feet.

No — It’s quicksand. 

In a moment, I am buried alive. 

The sand invades me. Every part of me.

Gritting my eyes, my vagina.

All creases and folds. 

Every orifice — pleffth. 

I can’t see. 

I can’t breathe. 

Blind mans bluff turns into

Gagged and Bound 

Hardened desert dwellers

Poking for a pearl.

I don’t want to play this game.

I tear off the blind fold, spit out the gag, but 

even then 

I cannot open my eyes —

goddamn sand

I am sobbing.

Every cell of my being is screaming

Help!

Help me open my eyes.

Please.

Where are the woods? 

Where is the 

moist 

mossy 

muddy 

mushroomy 

dark? 

Where is Rilke’s web of a hundred roots 

drinking?

Where are the eco-feminist witch coven children 

Creating potion poisons and mud pie dreams? 

Where are my protectors and my playmates?

What if I am lost in the desert forever?

Undefended and alone.

I cannot find my way 

Where is

Home?

…

Ecofemiwitch seeking playmates for a kind, but not-always-nice game of 

It’s Not a Board Game; We’re a Sphere Game, Motherfucker.