Elegy for my grandmother, 108
A Quadra-Haiku
Altar candles burn
Our silent prayers released
Ancestors singing
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How far songs travel
Growing wings from vocal tones
Riding broken breath
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Memories of her
Winter water turns to ice
Bitter grief preserved
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Dirt finally thaws
She always kept us waiting
Goodnight swiftly came
About the Creator
Colleen Borst
As an artist and a writer, I love pulling strands of folklore into our current world, imagining what could be, and paying respect to the past.
Visit me at ColleenBorst.com or etsy.com/shop/ModernHexology
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The Harvest
Koyi wobbled to her shabby wood and straw kaz, holding her machete and an old burlap bag with some yams. Someone had laid another basket in front of the patched up door—rose apples today. They were a bright reddish pink, looking waxy and crisp, just the way she liked them. The culprit knew her very well. Those would be crunchy, juicy and sweet—she could tell—but she gathered all the will she could muster and pushed the basket aside to enter her home. She had already said no repeatedly and would not be taking bribes.
By Lily Séjor2 days ago in Fiction
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