By: Hina Rani
There’s a tiny village that lives in the crook of my arm, peopled by the smallest of selves
Every day, they rise to pray to an apathetic goddess for warmth and rains
With a devotion unwavering in the face of her natural disaster
Their hands pinching my skin; miniscule bodies braced against mine
They know nothing of the inner machinations of their volatile Earth
I dread the day the children become conquerors
The day they’ll dig too deep, no longer caring if I bleed
Growing round and fat, they’ll wrinkle my skin wherever they sit
Until one day, my fingers will no longer bend and they’ll call it fitting revenge
It won’t be worth it, I’ll plead, when I’ll have nothing left to give
But by then they will have already gone forth, nestling in my chest, resting in the folds of my belly, tickling me between my toes
They’ll build cities where no flowers will grow
And I will be still.
About “Mother Earth”
This written piece was a winning submission (first place) for the 2020 Academic Skills Writing Contest. The 2020 theme was “sustain.”
About the Academic Skills Writing Contest
The 2021 Academic Skills Writing Contest is accepting submissions from January 18 until February 5, 2021.