Down from the hills
Down from ground that held our bones when we were dead
Before we birthed ourselves again because we forgot
What pain was
Cold fire burns among trees
Smoke rises from stone like fog released on breath
The water tastes like blood
We told ourselves
We were children of
Gods.
What can children do when
Ice breaks from wounded earth and even the sun
Feels cold
We went down to the shore on the great sea
Down to drift
Debris broken and lost
Sun warmed bones where we left them
For the tide to pick up
And carry away
C. S. Lytal is a librarian and social media coordinator for a midsize public library. They’ve done a lot of wild things in their life (literally less than five) and one of them was completing an MFA in Writing Popular Fiction at Seton Hill University. Their work has appeared in the online magazine All Worlds Wayfarer. You can find them doodling and daydreaming in North Carolina.
Published 10/31/24