by Juliana Perry
The inner turmoil is worrying knots and tension beyond the ache behind my lungs, reaching subcutaneous, just under my skin which by it's own right should be hard and resilient like a California Sequoia. Instantly it's soft and pale like the underbelly of a bloated salmon finished spawning and traveling downstream towards inevitable death. This is how it is facing the object of abhorrence from which I created and am now raising offspring in an effort to protect and shelter, despite wishing to fly rather than fight. I will fight this time, no fear of the world and how things tend to turn. I will stand straight and proudly be the woman who has emerged from and shed her feathers of flight; statistics can go to hell. The last feather drops and the pale underbelly slides beneath the rivers surface, the Sequoia emerges, strong, inherent with ice-age memories, and a force of nature no man's words or actions will penetrate.
Juliana Perry's full 6S catalog is here.