by Hollie Anderson
Atlas is a woman, and she is my mother, and her mother before her.
Atlas is a woman, and she is my mother, and her mother before her.
Bloodlines all tangled together with threads of the crones,
doomed, fated, destined
to a life of labor.
My hands reach out to hug her, but her arms are too full, carrying the weight of a vessel cursed with a womb.
In the quiet space of my mind, I wonder how much time remains until my arms, too, grow so heavy I cannot embrace my child.
Will they also punish me?
Will they lie at my feet and rest?
Will they beg for me to drop the sky?
© Hollie Anderson
Hollie Anderson (she/her) is an eternal college student and writer who lives in Texas with her husband, toddler, and many animals.
She is currently unpublished, but you can find her work on TikTok @swordandswanink.
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