Flumes Vol. 4: Issue 1, Summer 2019 | Page 40

Sorceress

By Eleanore Lee

She used to be a sorceress.

Made mountains grow, waves crash,

Earth move.

Men wept for her touch.

Flesh shivered with a thousand violins,

Her fingers crackled and snapped with fire.

The morning glistened and

When the sun cleared the horizon,

Her bread was always baking.

Electric rising,

Fragrance in the air.

Rocking him in her arms, she was

A bird, a deer, a lion.

But now her spell is broken.

Small and dry, she faces

Broken days, empty skies—

Gone, gone, gone.

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