Jennifer Fendya
“The Spark of Self-Recognition”
Response
Jenny Forrester
Inspiration piece
On the porch, windowed, green painted, white trim, I’d screwed hooks every whichawhere and there were flowers hanging upside down and feathers and crystal things and witchy things and necklaces. It was dried herbiferous things and chicken shit and mud and unrecognizable things. So many plans. I’d be an herbalist, a witch, a social activist with my symbols and things protecting people of various ethnicities, my shoulder to fights, all the fights.
And then I got so tired, and it wouldn’t leave me.
I’m supposed to say that I held, that I felt magical and invinsible. I had a friend who told me I was, told me which Game of Thrones character to be to battle on.
I’m supposed to say I was resilient, that I am. I am and was and will be. It’s a mountainous thing, uphill breathing, sucking wind, downhill rushing, feet to stones, the solid stones, holding their place, holding me up, deep snow, postholing, bluebird days, soft dirt path ahead.
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