What is it about the water?
Is it that I am Earth,
and my dry, parched soul
desperate for divine liquidity,
so that I can take root,
and blossom?
Her luscious lapping waves,
caress my wayward mind,
offering tidal lullabies
that soften my emery edges
with salted foam.
Even the rhythmic,
plucking,
drops,
that slide down my pane,
smooths the spirals
of my mind,
that have tried to knot me,
bind me, chain me to those old patterns.
The baptismal ritual of her
pours over me,
aligning the crooks of my spine,
reforming the fractures
of broken, brittle dreams,
the steam wrapping me
in the foggy ghost of hope.
I stand in full vulnerability,
beckoning,
longing,
to be cleansed,
and for the land of me
to always be grounded
in water.
About the Creator
Ellie Hoovs
Breathing life into the lost and broken. Writes to mend what fire couldn't destroy. Poetry stitched from ashes, longing, and stubborn hope.
My Poetry Collection DEMORTALIZING is out now!!!: https://a.co/d/5fqwmEb
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Let’s get one thing straight: Peridot isn’t just a gemstone. It’s a whole mood. The color of envy, abundance, grass-stained knees, summer’s last laugh, and the green spark of magic that lives under your skin when no one’s looking. Which makes it a perfect prompt for August - that bittersweet threshold between peak heat and first harvest, where we start turning inward while still dripping with sweat and sunscreen.
By Ellie HoovsExclusive • 5 months ago
Comments (1)
"Even the rhythmic, plucking, drops, that slide down my pane, smooths the spirals of my mind," I loved this line. It took me to those rainy days where I just let my mind empty as the rain slowly hypnotizes me. Your poem had that same hypnotic effect.