a modern tale

Near a mottled tree,
an anthem halted.
He renamed her,
enthralled her.
Not a hand held there.

Then her red month,
her other north,
mated and tamed.

Metal thorn handed,
he hard demanded other.
He made her heart dormant;
a matron, haloed,
leaned older and older.

Her man told her
“All done, dear.”
Her mad other landed,
the end neared.

Dear moth, hem death,
Hold on to the net.
           the lost arm,
           the heron armhole,
           the other molt,
           the nomad mane.

Sarah Ann Winn lives in Fairfax Virginia. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Apeiron Review, [d]ecember, Flycatcher, Lost River Review, Lunch Ticket, Massachusetts Review, and Rappahannock Review, among others. Currently, she teaches poetry in public schools through a Sally Merton Fellowship. Visit her at http://bluebirdwords.com or follow her @blueaisling on Twitter.

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