• Libbie

American Aisling

In dreams, Sky Woman comes and stands

and bares for me her skin of black

and shows with clenched and trembling hands

the fresh welts raised upon her back.


She built her flesh through violent toil

yet owns it not; her hands are bound.

Her blood still runs to stain the soil.

It cries from underneath the ground.


And robed in white, with cross and roar,

the man gives her no time to grieve;

demands she build yet more and more.

"I can't," says she. "I cannot breathe."


He weeps and sings "Land of the free"

while crushing her neck beneath his knee.


Libbie Grant

May 28, 2020



Photo by Julio Cortez

21 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

Ragnarok 2.0

In days of old, like days of now, the lords of land and sky and hearth broke the plowman to the plow and shook the bones inside the earth. The people bowed and wept and moaned— they had no strength; o

Shade

What is constant now: memory, the world as I knew it like a shade in some forgotten corner. The noise of the bar when I stood behind your chair and looked down. There was one gray hair you never knew

While We Were Still

While we were still the yellow haze lifted; the mountains rose and came to stand close as if to watch us. On the path I walk every day, the ferns have grown to six feet high and blackbirds chide me fr