At the Arizona market, I peruse
an array of crafts and relics in booths.
My hand reaches for a Sacred Hoop
of willow wrapped in rose coloured leather:
a frame for a woven web of sinew,
an anchor for gemstones and feathers.
Now hanging from my purple painted wall,
a talisman between the night sky
and my body curled under Grandma’s quilt.
Each night, new terrors haunt sleeping hours:
my body plunges from narrow cliffs.
Hooded men dash behind me on paths unlit.
Pythons squeeze each muscle, crush every bone.
A tarantula spins me, suffocates me.
Faceless strangers strangle breath from my lungs.
I scamper through a cave with no exit.
My screams remain unheard behind glass walls.
Motion pictures of danger, death, distress
lead to sweat soaked sheets and stifling nightgown.
Blankets tangle my limbs. Eyelids squeeze closed
until sunrays cast through my windows.
Light enters the web of dreams, burns captured
evil spirits, trickles fantasies through feathers,
preserves hopes in dangling amethyst gems.
About The Author
Makaila Aarin works as an academic librarian in Mississippi where she lives with her three rescue dogs.
She holds degrees in English, library science, and education. Currently, she is pursuing an MFA in creative writing. Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Prismatica Magazine, Stone of Madness Press, Dwelling Literary, Versification Zine, Capsule Stories, Sinister Wisdom, and other magazines. Find her on Twitter: @makaila_aarin
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