Blood, Cackles and Bones

She sprouted, bloodied to the teeth;

cackled through life, growing
grins in opened eyes thought barren.

She lives in bones
danced to mirth-filled ashes,

Margaret wants us to Play It Again. I’ve said yes… via Words Count with Mama Zen. She asks for poetry, in twenty-five words or fewer, which focuses on “an image that a writer returns to time after time. It’s part art, part personal mythology, and part creative shorthand. It’s a thing, a sound, an angle of light; it’s anything that a writer imbues with a greater meaning than it would ordinarily have and adopts as a signature symbol… What’s your power image? What sort of symbols do you find yourself returning to again and again? Show us…”

for the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads

Circle of Life“Circle of Life”