Vanessa Maderer
Solstice
The lit lilac sprig to is raised to frigid lips and I pull a drag
Of a lavender cigarette, and then exhale sage
To cleanse my breath.
It is now that my pores sprout emerald petal prisms
Through that temporary film of permafrost;
Budding gems spread like glistening ivy, and gleam under a still-cold sun.
Can barren skin continue to erupt with life?
I long to kiss fertility back across the planes of me, yet I fear
That this year’s crop will yield decaying fruit and nothing more.
Medusa’s Crown
The gorgon dons not
An ethereal diadem of daisies and fern, but instead
A tangled bramble tiara snagged right into scales
So deeply that you cannot divine where briars end and fangs reside,
Especially as no mortal would dare get so close to those hissing ringlets
To try and decide;
Serpine blood thus dyes her coils
From stone slate grey to a hue more crimson-kissed,
But make no mistake, weary traveller:
No stain can soften those cold,
Paralyzing
Eyes.
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