Violent, lifeless woman
lifted up from the lakeside
feather-light like slumber party games.
She’s a sleep-away camp story;
fire-side and flashlights under chins;
a flesh-wrapped ghost set free.
She falls beneath the wet
timelessly, tirelessly withstanding
divine departure. Such hope
captured within sallow
spectral features.
Water-logged,
soundless, sightless bloat
unseemly &
unnecessary. Grey waters lap
at the Grey Lady’s feet
once the wrappings are removed.
They dare speak her likeness
when gathered to burning altars
where smoke twists like
her robes whipped about her,
ankle-deep at the lough’s edge.
Wistful eyes wish a glance –
She will oblige.
K. Felician was raised in rural Wyoming and spent her childhood swimming in the creek and searching for horny toads beneath sage brush. She is currently completing her final semester studying English and philosophy at the University of Montana. Her interest in folklore, mythology, and oral tradition inform much of her writing. Felician believes that we forge our identities through the stories we tell and the stories we are told. She has a cat named Louisa May Alcatt, and she is really proud of that pun because she is a nerd.
