In Her Shaking Hands
by Steve Klepetar


The woman held a mirror
in her shaking hands

and saw the black-haired
witch of night. She heard

spells of courage and
death. She felt her fingertips

grow cold, as if she had ridden
long on a winter’s day, gripping

the reins of a galloping horse
until its hooves clattered

on cobblestones. When she
strode into the hall, everyone

was silent and afraid. She
rode the river of storm.

Her words were stars of leaded
glass. Wherever she walked,

shadows flooded the floor.
Sailors blessed themselves

and crumbled bread before the sea
could take them home again.





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