Again.

And as your body falls apart around you,
What’s left will grow another;
Like carcinisation, it moves ever closer
To what we ought to be.

Pick up the shell you outgrew,
Frame it, burn it, write about it,
Take a photo that sits lifeless
In a book, forgotten, on the shelf.

Feel the ground like gospel;
It’s never been this new.
Dig deep with digits unfamiliar
Unearth something wholly.

Stumble, pick yourself up.
Stumble, get up again.
Stutter, crack, stumble,
Get. Up.

again. And again. And a

Gain ground from the past
Take light from the future
Molding life out of inanimate
Like you’re your own god.

One day, too, your skin will shed
You’ll molt and peel out, fresh,
New.
Your skin will touch air, new breath,
New words,
To describe your birth,
Again

and

a
g
a
I
n
.

Salt in the Wound

Photo by Matheo JBT on Unsplash

This is a part of my Fourth Age Witches series; you can find them all here. The protagonist Calfin uses the neopronouns ze/zim/zir.


The old ship groaned in the whipping wind, always threatening to tip over but never following through.

Yet, thought Calfin, Always yet.

Ze took a look through one of the portholes, scratched on one side and covered with candle soot and ages-old grime on the other. The dried lake looked much the same as it had the past day, last month and the summer before: tediously barren, with a hint of unguided malice to anything that found itself stranded there. No trace of the trio yet.

Continue reading “Salt in the Wound”

Old Wounds, Fresh Faces

This is a part of my Fourth Age Witches series; you can find them all here.


The rain was heavy with purpose, landing with resounding thuds all around them; Taks thought it might be trying to cleanse the ground of battle, to remove old sins from the soil and soak the earth with hope instead. Maybe it was sick of the old world’s scars and wanted to wipe the slate clean.

With what had happened here, that was a losing battle in itself.

“Taks, damnit!” Marta bellowed as the tarp Taks had been holding slipped and flapped in the wind. “Hold it steady! Hog’s teeth, I don’t want to spend all night at it!”

Continue reading “Old Wounds, Fresh Faces”