The In Between

I have journeyed in the lands of midnight
Through lonely graveyards and silent squares
Between the wild bonfires and civilized hearths
Around the dusk and beneath the dawn
High noon always far away on the other side of the horizon
Over the lakes and under the mountains
Tiny roots growing down through the dark spaces of a single moment
Touches of the edge of winter and the beginning of summer brushing my shoulders as I wander past
The horses in the fields and the fox in the brush whispering hello at my passing
Time entwining my steps
I see the Cailleach in the distance, just around the corner
Carrying her bundle of firewood
The salmon is in the river under the hazel roots
And still I can’t find what I’m looking for
The springs of Bride bubble in the dwells and the hollers
The mournful bansidhe rides her grey steed along the banks and hills
The pigs snuffle for mushrooms at the gateway to other worlds
My soul keens for once was and for what is now lost here in the land of midnight
The deep mud, the mossy paths all carry my feet along
Sometimes over ice, sometimes over rocks
Feral like a wild thing, no longer tamed by my mother’s teachings
My grandmother knew, saw with her ageless eyes, that thing I seek
Discontent to stay still
Never tied to home and hearth, always yearning for more
So I search the land of midnights for the next best thing
There is beauty in the space in between

Copyright Lauren Elise, November 2019

Carrion Horse

This horse has been dead nearly six months.
He was shot straight out from under me.
He folded over, went to his knees and I landed in a broken heap on the barren ground.
It took me a month to collect myself and to get back up.
I’m still not fully healed, I walk with a limp.
When the weather is cold, my joints ache.
My heart still leaks rivers of blood.
Once I was on my feet, the first thing I did was resurrect that horse.
He was stubborn, didn’t want to leave the grain in the Elysian Fields behind.
Not that I could blame him.
It took blood and patience and a bargain at the cross roads to do it.
And it wasn’t just Orpheus that couldn’t look back.
But at least Eurydice wanted to go.
I pulled and tugged and dragged that damned beast back up the entire way out.
And then his flesh didn’t want to hold up.
Those that have died can never really come back.
Maybe it was a blessing that Orpheus lost Eurydice at the last minute.
I have to take my bone needle and red thread and patch and repair as we go.
But everyday, I get back up in that worn saddle and onward we go.
Up, up, up – it’s never a downhill run.
We fight for every step, every foot, me and that carrion horse.
The vultures circle above, waiting for us to quit.
But we’ve come too far now.
They thought that by killing my horse, I’d have no other options, that I would be too slow on foot.
They forgot that I am not a normal woman.
They forgot about the black hilted knife at my hip and the bone needle in my collar, the red thread I keep looped around my wrists.
They forgot that l don’t work in just this world and that I’m willing to strive ever toward what I want.
And this horse may be dead, but my will isn’t.
This horse has been dead for nearly six months.
They should have killed me instead.

Lauren Elise
March 25, 2018