She was told from
an age so young
that she indeed possessed all
the magic she needed
within herself
to set
the world
to right.

She placed daisies in
her long black hair
and skipped to the beat of
the songs her mother
had sung to her
before she left
escaping
her father.

She was often alone
rarely with friends as
she found comfort in the faeries
she spoke and sang to while
the wind
gently blew
hair in
her face.

She giggled when with
her only little sister
the best part of her world
to whom she adored more than
the breaths
she took
each and
every day.


She stood firm at home
never allowing
her father’s drunken words
to penetrate her self made wall
of anger and despair
because inside
her mind
there
were angels.

She closed her eyes at night
wishing the demons
to disperse into the heavy winds
that howled through the rafters
reminding her
she was
in fact
alive.

© Sia Jane

The thaw begins with a drip,
builds to a roar, subsides to sunlight
prisms playing over every surface

illuminating still-wet velvet wings
maroon and yellow, neon blue
pseudo-bark underneath.

In the clear-cut, pink fireweed
pierces a sky alive with souls
reveling in their last year on earth

sampling nectar with newly curled
tongues while summer degrades
to fall, burrowing in the cool

damp cord of fir put up for winter
awakening in spring, tasting summer
before the reprieve, too soon over

time come to fold
battered wings, to slip free
of this mourning cloak and rise.

I'm stuck in this eddy.
And I'm such a poor swimmer.

I get swirled around.
Like a little helpless fly
caught in a wineglass.
Unbeknownst to the drinker.

I'm stuck in this eddy.
And I'm such a poor thinker.

I allow my mind
to get swashed around...
Like a lone sock
in the washing machine.
Lost without its other.

I'm stuck in this eddy.
And I'm such a poor survivor.*

So I just submit
to the will of the currents.
Like an empty bottle.
Stuck head down at the neck,
in the bathroom floor trap.

Sink or float...
I can do neither.

If you're ever on the riverside
where the sun beats your head
you would see the old man
selling hats of palm leaf
but you care not to notice him
having already smelled the sea
and too keen to cross the river
travel southward on the island
till the saline wind scalds your eyes
your skins itch to jump into the waves
yet the man with the palm leaf hats
would not cease to tell you
how burning would be the sun on the sands
and so badly you need to protect the head
by parting bucks that mean nothing to you
but a world to the mouths he feeds
and before you stamp on him a final no
she has one atop her hair
beneath which her eyes flutter like butterflies
her sun rouged cheeks untimely blush
and two born anew lovers
merrily head for the sea
having bought romance
for forty bucks.

Faith
Can bring anything

Faith
Can cure anything

Time is your source

It won't wait

But you have to wait
To heal the wounds

Cumulonimbus
Growls above menacingly
Snarls at the terrene

Impaled by lightning
Howls in anguish, pierced and split
Bleeds thick drops of rain

nothing is as freeing
as aimless wandering
*i am free