Published by For Women Who Roar

i’ve seen three geysers erupt
one in reykjavik, the backdrop a glacial terrain
another in Yellowstone, that faithful one
the third came from my mother’s gut

beneath her placid surface
her grief boiled and swirled
uncertainty seething
bubbles of her emptiness expanding

she tamed the anxiety
with a dab of pale pink lip gloss
a little concealer under her eyes
a quiet, sweet smile, lips pressed closed

she masked her bony frame
with wide sleeves and billowy shawls
protein shakes for breakfast
vomit for dessert

and when the grief consumed her body
it spewed a scalding steam
cracking through the fragile fissures
bursting with the tension of what she had held