Where is home?

It’s not a place. It’s not a thing. It’s not something I can touch.

Christina Dunbar

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Photo by Danilo Batista on Unsplash

I have this desire
to sink my hands into the earth.
Into the dirt.
Into the mud.
Crimson, mulchy, moist dirt.
Dirt.
I want your filth underneath my nails,
Rich, earthy, ground,
I think of you often.
Earth.
A remembrance
of some sacred bond
between you and me.
You are Mother.
You are Woman.
You are this body.
I am this mud…

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Christina Dunbar

I write to ignite the female soul. Themes include creativity, personal growth, writing, storytelling, and magic. Learn more here: christinadunbar.com