05.03.01

i think i swallowed the state of new mexico.

i can feel it inside of me, pressing against my belly, a comforting, round weight that grounds me.

i think i swallowed the state of new mexico. the wide azure skies are strung across my ribcage, the hot and hard sun casting mile-long shadows, illuminating intimate darknesses of guts and organs and blood. expanses of turquoise silk stretch out for miles in my chest.

i think i swallowed the state of new mexico. sagebrush grows wild, tangling with my pubic hair and sprouting from underneath my arms. my heart is baked out of the deep red desert soil, and each time it beats the muddy green waters of the rio grande pump out and lazily circle my arteries, and then ebb back to the center of me.

i think i swallowed the state of new mexico. my skin is smooth, freshly mixed adobe that has been set out to dry in the sun. the sangre de cristos mountains are sprawled out across my chest, snow-etched peaks reaching toward the sky. my back is a mesa, the sun resting gently on its crest.

i swallowed the state of new mexico, and i can feel it growing inside of me, calling me home.

***

xoxo,

moonbird

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