Pink Smoke


I need a story where
the woods witch

does not rot with
neglect, deemed too weird

to love, but instead
  ventures into town,
swings unwithered hips

on a beat-filled floor,
reels in a full-flesh

partner in lust (no toad)
to adorn her abdomen
  with lush attention.

I need this witch—
who illuminates luck
  for others—

to get lucky herself,
satisfied at long last.

For a batch of hours
the pair will purr at stars
  and growl Moonward.

To unravel a dry spell
stay light as a feather,
  stiff as a stone.

Remain joyfully stubborn ‘til
one night a bell clangs
  the matter over.

Some bed-shake rhythms
can reverse curses.

In the morning—
when she grinds coffee beans

for her bed-guest and
  re-enters heaven—

villagers will watch
her cabin’s chimney
  exhale pink smoke.

And they’ll know
their seer
  has been seen,
pounced, drenched.

They’ll think,
Maybe spring
  will come early.

Elissa Ball is a freelance writer and comic originally from Yakima. Blue Begonia Press published her debut poetry collection, The Punks Are Writing Love Songs, in 2012. Elissa’s writing has appeared in Seattle Weekly, the Inlander, The Yakima Herald-Republic, The Spokesman-Review, and RANGE Media. She lives in Eastern Washington.

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