Daffodil Fire

As he tells me about his call to his parents, I assemble my tools: a pair of Tupperware lids to serve as plates, the ripped open produce bag, a small container, and a knife. He tells me his discussion with his mother, telling her about my therapy and my work, as I slowly carve the cone beneath the remains of the stem. Another slice along the bottom of the fruit and I am listening to him continue on as he finishes his recap and asks me about my thoughts on my therapy.

The blood of the pomegranate stains the counter as I crack open the fruit, prying the rinds apart and settling the majority on the side, on the lid that I had set on the counter. I tell him how it has been helping, how it upsets me that so many people dismiss it as unnecessary or not useful.

I break off another wedge of seeds and slowly crack them out, seed by seed. We discuss my therapy further as I continue dropping seeds into the bowl. Soon, I can feel a haze behind me, a slight heaviness behind my shoulders. Our conversation drifts off and I finish with my two pomegranates, handing over the bowl and heading to the shower to finish calming down.

Anger rolls off me in waves as I stand beneath the water raining down on my bare body. I turn the knob to make the water cooler, hoping it will calm my fury. The heaviness behind my shoulders aches now and I am ready for her.

My anger is righteous, I am told, as the Queen Beneath the Mountain speaks, her voice heavy in my mind. But it is unnecessary and unneeded. The men who incited my fury deserve no more of my thoughts, my energy. It is time to let go, she tells me. Moments pass and I exhale slowly, running my hands along my wet hair as the water rains down. She breathes the icy water of February streams down my throat, cooling the daffodil fires in my belly. I exhale again and stand there a moment, breathing in her cool waters, the rivers of Hades in my lungs. They settle in my body and raise out again on the next exhale.

I turn off the water and head to dress, calm again.

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