12/02/2026
What if subverting and unsettling sanitised Earth-woman archetypes is vital restorative healing for these times of rupture?
The reclamation of our sovereignty and the inhabitation of our full selves as they are, not as we are told they should be, is a rebellion against a culture that feeds on the innocence and malleability of youth, transforming that innocence into fuel for the machines of domination, misogyny, and hierarchy.
To allow ourselves to be reclaimed by the wild and mossy tendrils running through our own bodily soil would be a surrender into a beingness so profound that we may even lose the weighted, oily trappings of culture, and fall back into the arms of true belonging.
And so, a poem, of sorts;
Puff up my cheeks with springy moss;
Plump my lips with coconut-scented gorse.
Smooth my thighs with rough cat’s tongues;
Stain my skin with berry-blood.
Colour my hair with roots of red madder;
Pull back my eyes quickthorn; fish bladder!
Shave my teeth with bone and antler;
Drown me in old wells of winter.
Then weave my woes upon my face;
Lines of beauty wrought, in grace.
Adorn me in your coat of scars;
Mother hold me, hold me fast.
And let me rot the way I choose;
Unstuffed with chemical abuse.