Sunday, April 13, 2014


While black-spruce gravely holds council,
a grayish crescent haunts the blue,
I'm gathering the thread of courage,
winding a fine, elusive skein.

Wild-flowers pressed between pages,
strange lyrics and music beckon.
My life, a cautionary tale,
a heart held in a vice, a song

for my sisters and the voiceless,
the unheard, unloved, un-caressed,
broken bodies marked by moon-runes,
Chinook wraps their longings in silk.


bluestorm said...

"a heart held in a vice" . . . such a powerful line!
wonderful piece all together.

Iulia Flame said...

Thank you.

when trees as gilded as bees

Above the 61st parallel, the colors of Autumn mark our parting with the bees, and the last days of real warmth. I had begun to transl...

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