🌊 The Hollow Places

a poem

Cinna was exploring the hollow of a fallen tree

In a matter of months, I’ll be forty,
and it’s the hollow places of my body
that need more support:

the arches of my feet and my lower back,
the hollow of my neck
(home of my problematic thyroid)
and the one between my legs
(commencing perimenopause)—

but most of all, the hollow place
where the little girl I once was
still lives inside me,
waiting in some despondence
for me to adequately support her.

Stay tuned for an essay (as soon as I get time to write it) on what I’ve been learning about the importance—and difficulty—of taking care of my inner child.