by MaxieJane Frazier
I believe in magic. I grasp ruthlessly severed flesh, chosen for its eyes, and bury it like secrets. What will they watch in the dark; how, in the gloamy loam do they see hope; what forces the nub to extend and stretch until it breaks into open air? My only incantation is a drumbeat of “hurry” to plant and hurry to weed and hurry to water and hurry to work and hurry to write and hurry, hurry, hurry.
The magic sloughs off the poisonous overlay of anxiety and forms its catalyst anyway. I hurry to the garden and pause, loosen through my fingers, discover my no-longer-anxious self on my knees, studying the soil for the first glimpse of green.
MaxieJane Frazier is a writer, educator, and editor. Her work is in Switch, Cleaver Magazine, Booth, SoFloPoJo, Collateral Journal, The Bath Flash Fiction anthology, and elsewhere. MaxieJane holds an MFA from Bennington and founded Mighty Mule Editing. More at maxiejanefrazier.com.
