Milk

BY Annika Hein

36 weeks by Odin Wilde

Milk.

You’re hard to pin down.
Rushing all over the place like that
falling fast and simmering slow.
I’m never really sure what I’m going to get
how I’m going to wake up.
To be guided by the womb is a demanding way to live.
Confusing.
Flippant.
Fluid and milky.
Waves of past trauma
of past love
fogging up the rear-view
making it hard to know what’s happening now.
It comes from the back of the stomach.
Beyond the aches of loneliness
free-floating of first love
the sickening plunge into panic.
Beyond the stomach that’s so boldly
so bashfully
so bravely
showing up with all of our emotions.
Showing us how we feel today.
Making us feel beyond the walls
of ways to feel.
The quiet notes of ways to hear the heart.
The different part of the stomach.
The gut in all its glory.
The gut in all its gracefulness.
Patient.
Skilful.
Speaking in sounds that look like shapes and symbols.
This is not a hand-holding exercise.
This is a wake-up call to bring you home.
Gut feeling
different from guilt.
A decision that rips me from the ground.
Guilt we make up. We swim around in luxuriously.
Indulgent.
Selfish.
Guilt we use to make ourselves feel better.
Gut ensures we already do.

Flight by Odin Wilde

unamed by Odin Wilde