uninhabitable


to the uninhabitable
skin scorching desert
body crumbling mountain range
climbed, excavated, marked as conquest
i don’t know how to nurse landmine back to health
without getting caught in it.
i am used to crashing waves
to full lungs & dried salt spilling from my body for days,
but it is never enough to float upon.
to the conflict
a body split right down the middle
not quite down the middle
haven’t learned how to make the pieces fit, yet.
but i am still whole
maybe mangled
maybe the side of the mountain left untouched
not perfect, still holy, loved even without footprints.
to the body unsure
every great discovery began with a question mark
most of them ending with peace or not ending, yet.
to the body uninhabitable
this is not true
you just need a more forgiving climate
to the seeds that will grow
tall, protecting, dripping the red
of ripe fruit
this is the sweet ending that you were promised
but it is not fully grown, yet.
be patient
you & the land are not going anywhere

About The Author

Rachel is a 21 year old student and poet who writes and learns in the pursuit of justice. Her identities as queer / jewish / chronically ill inform her work and drive her to seek out, or create, a more whole world.