you are the middle of nowhere
centered at the very heart of me.
yatta abba, the dogwood grove,
the name of you that
fits in my mouth like an incantation.
i remember you as dead magic.
fistfuls of rotted leaves & cracked – open acorns,
wilting azaleas & dirt made soft by the rain —
ingredients from my grandmother’s backyard.
mixed together with a too – big stick
& water i poured from the garden hose.
in my bubbling cauldron,
the secret to revitalization.
your simple euphoria.
i wanted to give you an offering.
i wanted to be the wild woman, witch woman,
that roamed your shadowed streets,
my voice a moonbeam
cutting through the night,
singing to you
in the hope
that you would
come alive
once again.
Tatyana Hill is completing her degree in Creative Writing at Auburn University. Her interests include free verse poetry, as well as writing short fiction pieces. She has a passion for world-building, character creation, botanical imagery, and lush description.
