The Whisky Blot
Journal of Literature, Poetry, and Haiku
Lynx saunters into my dream along a path, elegance wrapped in fur— formidable force, inspiring awe, then fear as she advances. Before I can escape the odds narrow now Lynx is padding toward me along a hallway, cool and confident. Eyes gleam with wisdom, lock on me, pierce my being. There is no escape-- I have come to take the stone out of your heart. Fierce and tender fangs clamp onto it— not easy to dislodge after years of settling in my inner room curtains pulled tight against sunlight starving growth of warmth and tenderness, feeding on fear of vulnerability. The time has come-- wrenching, tearing, baring my heart to the sharp white fangs, a bleeding of old wounds cleansing, purging surging of hope, light streams back, restores warmth, tender new growth. Days after my dream on a forest path in pre-dawn light I relive my encounter with Lynx… fear gives way to familiarity as my feet match her stride and my eyes see through the bark and cambium straight to the hart. Sun shatters the horizon and in a flash I see my own ferocity extracting the stone. Liz Kornelsen is a prairie poet from Winnipeg, Manitoba and the author of Arc of Light and Shadow: Poems with Art. To dance lightly on the earth in solitude, with other humans, or with other forms of nature, is one of her greatest joys. Comments are closed.
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