Cauldron Anthology Issue 9: They Who Were Spurned cauldron9finalproof | Page 30

a marsh, looking-glass
Hannah Ma d o nna
a marsh, looking-glass
Pull up my roots from
the thick, sucking mud -
bloody and wet -
And prune with soft-fingered hands
the boundless prisms of my leaves.
I am an etch on the glass
reflecting the smear of dirt
left like a slice
across the smooth surface
of your still, mirrored pond.
A lily -
gilded, I am not.
I am the dead, rotting willow
half-buried by darkness
in the deep chambers
of tree-stuffed swamps.
30
Cauldron Anthology