death priestess, by Jaden Rudd

The Magic Circle, by John William Waterhouse (England) 1886

​death priestess 
 
i am not in the canyon i become it
these grooved walls are ancient
something which used to be lush
             fluorescent
now dry out like an orange rind 
or the disregarded fig left
forgotten in this arid sun
             trace the wood 
as it vibrates buzzing like a wasp 
who succumbs to the blossom
feel it like lightning as it 
             crackles
through the desert taste it like sand
clumping in your throat 
choke on the smoke as it 
             pirouettes
through the air silky dancer 
succumb to the sickle i will let your blood
fuel my fire i can make you into
             magic
you weep tears and plead for mercy
forgetting that water is not plentiful
the desert is death and rich with
            abandonment
listen to the sound gold makes as it burns
this cauldron becomes endless engulfed 
in flame i can channel god from gilded
            bronze
the murder of crows watch curiously
whispering evil nothings that remind me 
that dying is also conception and they
            laugh
shrill shrieks until you become innocence
again skin slips from your body bones turn 
to sand relinquishing can be peaceful 
            decompose

Jaden Rudd

Jaden Rudd is a student at Flagler College, where she studies creative writing. She works as head fiction editor for Flare: The Flagler Review, and is the blog director for Strike Magazine. She enjoys writing pieces that feel whimsical and out of this world.