a poem about the Book Weyward by Emilia Hart
written by me.
angelica:
she blooms in summer, she
grows by the beck, white specks
on ink-black crows,
feathered quill on parchment
telling stories to your kids,
you try to save them,
held back by coward men,
they try to take your
honor, your power
but you live and die a fighter.
you are womanborn
you are far from home
you sit close by the fire and dance to the moon
and the leaves and the mayflies swarm you,
hold you tight, your baby is here with
you, your guilt too
you do not let either of them go until
you do.
it lives and dies a fighter.
you are medicine, you are
poison poised on a pedestal, your feet nailed on the stone
by a man who doesn't understand what it means to be a fighter,
he lives and dies a coward.
you are crone and mother and maiden
and you crow to you mother who made you
you say she is gone but she is
never far.
she's the mayflies
she's the beck
she's the crows
she's a prologue in your
play, you are the lead,
you work the cast,
your act is almost done, the next up is coming on
and you live and die a fighter.
those who seek to harm
you never let them have the final
word. when mayflies, crows
wings batter them
you let them go
you're sure they won't come back
because they know that
you live and die a fighter.
angelica grows by the beck, she blooms in summer, she is speckled white,
when she
dries, her seeds fall and wait their turn
and she lives and dies a fighter.