A Child Once

Story by Caitlin Van Horn
March 6, 2016

I wanted to hold it. To keep it safe as a raven treasures a seed. To carry it deeply like a woman heavy with child.

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Story by Caitlin Van Horn
March 6, 2016

I wanted to hold it. To keep it safe as a raven treasures a seed. To carry it deeply like a woman heavy with child.

23694405560_5cd7f8c9c0_o-2.jpg
 
 
 

I wanted to hold it. To keep it safe as a raven treasures a seed.  To carry it deeply like a woman heavy with child.  But one day, in the nearby wood, while I was dancing softly on the green moss bank, a shadow made itself a bed in my ear.  It’s words loosened me like tousled hair, shook me like howling winter winds, and scratched at my scabs that had taken years to collect.  I tried to stamp it out but my feet where too small.  It recoiled and spat, raging on the ground.  It took hold of my ankles, my knees buckled and I fell, the ground received me into its cold grip.  A bitter wind blew, and with a spirit of resistance I curled up next to the shadow, a faded tapestry of time and expectations.  I cut open my breast and let it burrow deep inside of me, leaving the longing for those lost childhood hours swimming in my eyes. 

 

 
 
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