Something with the body of a woman
and the head of an antlered dear
approached me in haste.
It had scales running down its chest and back,
burnt-orange colored scales.
It had a sheer, fern-green robe with feathers on the cuffs
draped over its shoulder, flowing behind it.
"Child, this is not the place for you."
It spoke in a tranquil voice,
quelling all other sounds of the forest.
The crickets ceased,
and the sparrows barely dared breathe.
It turned its palms outward,
and appearing in them
were two cigarettes.
"Sit with me; smoke with me."
The voice echoed amongst the pine trees.
It summoned a swinging bench,
and we sat and smoked together.
Its emphasized exhales,
much more graceful than my sputters and coughs,
told a story of longing.
My story of longing.
"You came to visit me."
I didn't.
I came to visit her,
but perhaps she is gone forever.
I had longed for her touch, or
for her voice.
I had always been longing,
and it caused this disgusting lust.
"I see."
Although it was blind,
its words were not untrue.
I was sent out of the forest
with one extra cigarette
and a backstory.
Fluorescent lights blinded me
as I wailed.
Elaine Freyja is a young poet just starting out in the poetry world, and their work ranges from abstract to concrete in style. If you would like to follow them on social media, please visit https://www.instagram.com/elaine_freyja_poetry/