“Mother, how could you? You punish this recalcitrant child of ore, stealing my strength and leaving in your wake a tantrum of destruction. This hurts me; it leaves me a damaged mass straining to survive. Is this your intent? Am I to twist and writhe until all that once was is now a pitted mass of malcontent? Mother, how could you?”

“My son, stolen from me and wrought by the hand of man, yet strewn about my body with little care – be blessed. For I have bathed you in my milk, taken from you all constraint, and given you back time’s natural glory.”

“But, Mother, they look upon me with disgust and intent – intent to destroy. I am no longer wanted. I wish to be wanted, Mother.”

“My child, Fe, you are wanted. Relish in it, be thankful for my shed tears, my nourishing wash, and embrace the beauty of hues that lie within your visage. There are those who value greater your discordant rust than the shiny ingots you were smelted to be.”

© Copyright 2013 Nina D’Arcangela. All Rights Reserved.