poetry

The calling.

lone tree

When I’m in our bed
suffocating under
limbs, feathers
I sweat and dream
of coating my flesh
with a balm of
herbs-ashes-blood-gold
and squirming free
of your heavy hand
to chase glimpses and strands
of a hag’s crackled white hair
bent, wild
like horrified birch trees.

© Nancy Botta, 2018

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7 thoughts on “The calling.

  1. This needs music. More specifically, black metal. None of that overly-polished or needlessly-lo-fi stuff, some proper, well produced stuff. None of that blackgaze or whatever, just straight up. “The Calling” – even the name is ominous and beautiful and terrible to behold.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Oh I really like this one! The image formed by “strands of a hag’s crackled white hair
    bent, wild like horrified birch trees” is so very wonderful!! I wish I could give this more than one “like”!

    Liked by 1 person

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