'phoenix': My Poetic Journey Through Flu & the Portal of Transformation

phoenix

through fevered haze, the portal opens,

a doorway carved from the marrow of time,

whispers of worlds dissolve and reform,

each breath thick with the weight of becoming.

the flu is a cruel shaman,

dragging me to the altar of my body’s surrender,

while the first drops of my blood

paint the threshold red —

a sacred offering to the cycles that bind me.

in this strange, trippy liminality,

visions blur like oil on water —

the hollow ache of life’s engine turning,

the cycle of creation etched in my womb,

the echo of endings etched in my bones.

is this what it means to carry life? to carry death?

to hold both origin and oblivion

within the soft chambers of my flesh?

to bleed, to ache, to nourish, to die,

to be the soil, the seed and the falling leaf,

all at once?

this is not gentle.

this is the storm.

the darkness before dawn,

the reckoning of all i’ve clung to,

and all i must release.

it feels like mother’s depths,

a merciless spiral into truths i forgot to face.

the fever sings,

“you are everything and nothing.

you are the pulse of the universe

and its silence.”

time bends.

i am ancient and infinite,

a mother to gods, a child of stars,

a witness to life’s first cry

and its final breath.

the portal churns,

dragging me toward rebirth.

i see the new year,

its promise tender and unformed,

a light waiting to bloom

in the cradle of this chaos.

i will emerge from this.

reborn.

remade.

a phoenix rising from the ash of my fevered dreams.

a woman who remembers —

that life and death

are two sides of the same coin

and we are the ones who carry it.

Commentary on “phoenix”

“Phoenix” emerged from an intensely visceral and transformative experience, written in the grip of flu and on the first day of menstruation — a convergence of physical vulnerability and deep spiritual reflection. I was caught in the liminal space between the year that had passed and the promise of the new, navigating an almost hallucinatory state where the cycles of life, death, and rebirth felt magnified and undeniable.

The poem became my way of processing the profound discomfort of that moment, channeling the rawness of fever and the cyclical nature of my body into something that could hold meaning. It is not just a recounting of illness but an exploration of what it means to embody both creation and destruction, to carry life and death within me as part of the larger, universal rhythms.

The Cycles of Life and Death

Throughout the poem, I was grappling with the dualities inherent in the human — and particularly the feminine — experience. Lines like:

“is this what it means to carry life? to carry death? / to hold both origin and oblivion / within the soft chambers of my flesh?”

reflect this tension.

In this moment, I felt acutely aware of how my body carries the capacity for both creation and decay. Menstruation, often dismissed as mundane, felt deeply symbolic — a reminder of the cycles I am part of, the ways I hold and release, nourish and surrender. The repetition in “to bleed, to ache, to nourish, to die” mirrors this rhythm, emphasizing the relentlessness of these cycles and the way they connect me to the larger forces of existence.

Imagery and Symbolism

The imagery in the poem came from a place of fevered clarity, where everything felt heightened and symbolic. Blood became a “sacred offering,” reframing something ordinary as something ritualistic and powerful. I wanted to honour this process, to show how even the pain and messiness of the body are tied to something sacred and universal.

Nature became another way for me to convey this connection. The lines:

“to be the soil, the seed and the falling leaf, / all at once,”

reflect how I felt in that moment — not as separate from the cycles of growth, decay, and renewal, but as embodying them. These metaphors anchored me, reminding me that this experience wasn’t just about pain or fever; it was about being part of something far greater.

The Portal as Transformation

The idea of a portal came to me as a way to describe the disorienting, liminal space I found myself in. Fever became the force dragging me into this place, like a cruel yet necessary guide:

“the flu is a cruel shaman, / dragging me to the altar of my body’s surrender.”

In that state, I felt stripped down to my core, forced to confront truths I might have avoided otherwise. The fever wasn’t just physical; it was metaphorical, pushing me through the threshold of what was and into what could be.

The portal represented transformation — the uncomfortable yet essential process of shedding old layers. The fever’s voice, speaking:

“you are everything and nothing. / you are the pulse of the universe / and its silence,”

wasn’t something I consciously planned; it felt like a truth that emerged through the writing. It encapsulates the paradox I was experiencing — being both infinitesimal and infinite, part of the universal cycles and yet uniquely myself.

Rebirth and the Phoenix

The phoenix came to me as the natural conclusion of this journey. After all the chaos, discomfort, and reckoning, there was a sense of promise — not that everything would suddenly be easy, but that I would emerge from it transformed:

“i will emerge from this. / reborn. / remade. / a phoenix rising from the ash of my fevered dreams.”

The phoenix is a symbol of resilience and renewal, and it captured how I felt in that moment — that even in the depths of fever and pain, there was a seed of something new. The imagery of rising from ashes wasn’t just a metaphor; it was how I saw myself stepping into the new year, carrying the lessons and rawness of that moment forward.

Linguistic and Poetic Techniques

The poem’s free verse structure allowed me to write without constraints, reflecting the spiraling, disorienting nature of the experience. The repetition of key phrases like “to bleed, to ache, to nourish, to die” and “reborn. / remade.” creates rhythm and intensity, mirroring the relentless cycles I was writing about.

Metaphors — the portal, the phoenix, the soil and seed — were essential for translating what I was feeling into something tangible. These images gave structure to an otherwise chaotic moment, helping me convey the layers of transformation I was experiencing.

The language moves between the visceral and the cosmic. Phrases like “soft chambers of my flesh” ground the poem in the physicality of the body, while “the pulse of the universe / and its silence” reaches toward the universal truths I felt connected to. This balance reflects how the moment felt — deeply personal and yet part of something far greater.

Embracing the Storm

“Phoenix” was born out of a moment of profound discomfort, but it became a way to honour the transformation that discomfort brings. Writing it helped me make sense of the fever, the blood, the chaos of stepping into a new year while feeling completely undone.

It’s a testament to the cycles we all carry — the creation and destruction, the holding and releasing, the endless process of becoming. Through this portal, I was reminded that even in the darkest, most chaotic moments, there is the potential for rebirth, for emerging stronger, more aligned, more whole.

This is what the phoenix means to me: not just rising, but carrying the ashes of what was into what will be, knowing that both are part of the same cycle.

What moments in your life have felt like stepping through a portal? How have you carried the ashes of what was into what will be?