Colleen RJC Bratton: Endometrial Atmosphere

I lie side-by-side with this World, her air above me and her ground below. I do not lie alone but hold someone else at my center of gravity. The Earth and I talk about our similarities: she speaks on the tumultuous and changing states of her atmosphere and I reflect on the precarious and sensitive nature of my endometrium. A gust of wind brushes the ribbons of my hair. My hand strokes the curve of my belly. We gaze upon the sphere, the follicle, the celestial body and regard its weight and the burdens and blessings it places upon those who hold them. The babe within me kicks me as I fill the car with gas.

I recount last September’s blazes in the west and the smoldering air that filled our collective lungs. What used to be a day or so of falling ash has turned into weeks of beige haze. The sky placed a blanket over us in a poetic request to slow down, to rest, to stop consuming so rapidly, so she could reveal their deepening pain.

The temperature rises. Maybe the Earth is about to ovulate, maybe it’s a fever of defense. For my body, the temperature incline comes from a blood mass increase for Baby’s sake. For this blue and green orb, global warming owes its formation to the overconsumption of resources. I cannot speak for this large celestial body, but I can bear this weight out of love. Does the Earth have its own form of oxytocin?

It was unexpected, that a fertility journey would flood me with empathy for Mother Earth. There are so many factors that have to come together to support delicate life. I’ve changed countless ways in which I navigate this life and my body in order to bear a child. In this same spirit, I seek to change so that the Earth can continue on its journey of holding me and so many others.