| THE LORELEI SIGNAL |
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| Written by LiAnn Yim / Artwork by Holly Eddy |
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| The Fix-It Witch |
They bring her newborn babes
with sickle-shaped birthmarks,
eyes the color of changing weather
who never cry, but laugh when it rains.
Mothers bring their cursed children
Those born with magical stain
whose blood runs hot with unlawful taint
and pulses with intolerable inhumanness.
Mothers give the witch their dark things,
and the last witch takes them.
She spells that within them to silence,
spared by King’s Law for their sacrifice.
The witch sews up the magic
fluttering furiously
beneath her withering fingers
She stifles the clawing creature,
The still pools where a protean spirit dwells
The leafy wood harboring an ancient presence
that slinks away before her groping fingers
writhing from her thieving grasp
dying like a wild thing,
shriveling its fur and tail,
Not feebly, but with feral teeth
turned against its witch-kin.
She binds the creature tight
so it may not break.
Knots the magic straining
and surging to touch
beneath pale pearl skin
so Mothers may keep their human babes.
with sickle-shaped birthmarks,
eyes the color of changing weather
who never cry, but laugh when it rains.
Mothers bring their cursed children
Those born with magical stain
whose blood runs hot with unlawful taint
and pulses with intolerable inhumanness.
Mothers give the witch their dark things,
and the last witch takes them.
She spells that within them to silence,
spared by King’s Law for their sacrifice.
The witch sews up the magic
fluttering furiously
beneath her withering fingers
She stifles the clawing creature,
The still pools where a protean spirit dwells
The leafy wood harboring an ancient presence
that slinks away before her groping fingers
writhing from her thieving grasp
dying like a wild thing,
shriveling its fur and tail,
Not feebly, but with feral teeth
turned against its witch-kin.
She binds the creature tight
so it may not break.
Knots the magic straining
and surging to touch
beneath pale pearl skin
so Mothers may keep their human babes.
| Make a donation to this artist: |
L. Y. Oak was born and raised on the West Coast, lived one year in Florence, got
her B.A. in Journalism and History on the East Coast, and returns home overseas.
She loves reading, California blackberries, and prosciutto sliced so thin you can
see through it.
This is her first poetry publication.
her B.A. in Journalism and History on the East Coast, and returns home overseas.
She loves reading, California blackberries, and prosciutto sliced so thin you can
see through it.
This is her first poetry publication.