“The Murk-Journal (or Once Beyond a Time)” by Danica Cummins
A witch
cursed
me long
ago,
and now
I am the
stones
in a
riverbed.
This
freshwater
kelp is my
hair.
These
obsidian
pebbles are
my eyes.
This
frisking
otter --
she’s my
heart,
and
these hiding
minnows
are my
mind.
Do you
think I would
forget I
was
female --
the way
my legs cleft
in the
middle?
This
eddy of water
here by the
rock --
that’s
my
enjambment,
my womb.
I was
threatened
once.
A witch
cursed me
to live
a long and
happy
life,
exactly as
I’d
wanted.
Then
the
unicorns
started
denying me.
They
nickered away
from my
scent.
I
smelled
finished:
of the
ragged
moonflower
heath,
and the
tower steps,
and the
pearly blood
clots in
winter
no more.
Now
I must be
a tender of
beanstalks,
the
witch said,
not a
climber;
and the
door
in the
valley,
creaking
there free
of going
anywhere
wouldn’t
open.
And I
thought:
Maybe I’d
rather be
the
stones.
I backed
into these
waters, far
from
words, and
scents,
and
doors; far
inside
a
different
sort
of
power. And
I’ll wait
here.
Until
the moths eat
the tapestries,
I’ll
wait here.
Until no
man remembers
the
planet where
pipers
can
lead. Until
sailors
retreat from
the salt
breath of
mermaids,
thalassic
romance
adjourned.
| Danica Cummins lives in Northern California, where she works in a bookstore and dreams of being a pirate. Her work has been published in Luna Station Quarterly and many other online venues. |