Embracing the Calling

The stones have drunk her

footprints, and in the manner

 

of a proper uninhibited stupor,

they have smattered errantly

 

on a clear moonlit path, her red

robe supplies the wind with

 

buoyancy, floating behind her

like a supine shadow. The smaller

 

flowers cower in their buds

while the prouder ones stand

 

chest-front against the distanced

howling of a possible night

 

watchdog, but Red knows the woods

are an enticement:

 

the path of deathlessness.

 

If the desire to live counted as a sin,

she was the Cain of gluttony

 

for want of immortality. Her basket

of sweet cakes is laid at the centre

 

of a chalk drawn circle, she holds

a lighted candle to the cumulating

 

grey clouds, the silence holds its

breath in fear of being heard;

 

her pink lips tonight shall receive

their first kiss;

 

she shakes the hood off her head

letting her golden mane shine

 

brighter than the fireflies, she waits

till the clouds have undressed

 

the moon, the stars curl up

like truant seasons, she howls

 

back to the moaning woods.

 

Copyright © 2016 Sheikha A..

Sheikha A. retains all rights to this work, granting Fickle Muses one-time, non-exclusive electronic publication rights. Please contact the creator to request permission for reprints or other uses of this work.

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