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.
Ardent-dream
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.