Daphne Without Apollo
Not running away. Not pleading
for a hiding-place -- vain boy of a god,
did you think you would blot me
from the world? -- but running to
the earth I craved. The strength I sprawled against
in summer and winter, mourning my pink little hands
which could only trace roots in the rocks.
Only sing love-sick in watery notes
till the broad earth laughed her earthquake laugh
Yes, love. Come.
You saw me then, running to tangle
my feet at her heart. My face grown tall,
upturned. The wind ashiver in my thousand arms,
grown solid, heartwood-thick
and riddled with birds.
Vain boy, did you mean to chase me? Yet I
have forgotten you.
Ada Hoffmann finds writing much more satisfying than actually talking to people. Her poetry has appeared in Strange Horizons and Goblin Fruit. You can find her online at http://ada-hoffmann.livejournal.com/ or on Twitter at @xasymptote.