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Poem by Kaja Safar


On a cold mossy rock she sits,

counting souls and bearing gifts

of terror, grievance and salt water, 

for someone’s mother, son or daughter

will take in their last drop of life,

one last sigh of sweet delight.

Her hair will glisten with drops of rain 

or teardrops shed in wails of pain,

and cries will pierce the silent night

as one more soul walks to the light.

Her ghastly sighs you cannot silence,

cannot mistake them for songs of sirens.

Where her shrill howls do deafen some,

soil shall reek of death to come.

Originally published in Issue XIX in December 2019.