THE GODDESS SEES HER REFLECTION IN A WASH BASIN
Words By Aaron Graham, Art By eluela31
Winner of F(r)iction‘s Spring 2021 Poetry Contest.
Wormwood made
her moon shine.
The Good Book
lied. The last days
came first, came
in the fertile years,
each one a breast.
Her lips made words
to plant a new nation
full of old county dirt
before the weather
was on her body,
burning like a broad
lawn, her hair like drawn
flames, her mother’s screams
once wood, are now dust
and oranges. She notes how
limbs break mid-flow
like a misstep,
like a shifting line, whitening
even the fullest fires.
her arm is, just as night is,
silence. Dark acres
and white clover
are a gesture
towards the curve
of her bended knee.