Venus

by Emily Mongin

A universe of cells
Its perpetual expansion beneath the taut membrane of my belly
Microscopic and profound in its enormity
The veil between this world and the one we all come from and return to
Only as thick as a curtain of flesh
A convex navel
And veins green and branching as fern fronds

I have become some unfamiliar liminal goddess
Straddling a branch from the tree of good and evil
Like the anonymous, richly fleshed women carved from stone
Beautiful, curved, obscure deities from prehistory
Who are unearthed from the soil like deeply buried tubers
Of ancient desire

Emily R Mongin is a baker, visual artist, casual writer of poetry, and plant fanatic born and raised in Appleton. She is a current student at Fox Valley Technical College, where she studies horticulture.