Gingerbread House Lit Mag

lost in iceland

she searches for herself in burnt grass, speckled shoes scuttling
on crystal glass as winter

slippers over flaxen-haired hills & wolves rehearse what to say —
she is soaked

in water’s reflection of someone else walking hand in hand
with golden foxes stealing

snowflakes climbing high into a pigeon-grey sky, she hears the ghosts
of little children running fast

in perfect circles trailing tender hooves, meets an old woman
eating famished plums.

She sniffs the air for something new, unravels a traveler’s map
hooks a finger over a molten moon that may shine again peeks

through clouded windows, picks green camellias. It rains restless
white swan feathers falling

whitest white waiting to be caught on
her blistered tongue but                    silence — she slides

to her forest’s edge, shreds roses that seal themselves
inside the shadows of her limbs —

stretches her skin over pulsars & planets
paints a different version of herself.

K. V. Martins

K.V. Martins lives in New Zealand and writes poetry and historical fiction. She is the 2020 winner of the NZ International Poetry Society Competition for her haiku, and she has won flash fiction contests and been runner-up or long-listed in international competitions. Her work has been featured in various journals.

Artwork:  Pat Curtis, with permission

This entry was published on January 31, 2021 at 12:03 am and is filed under 45 (January 2021), Poetry. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.
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