the Wind

the Wind is back
with her willowy fingers
and her icy breath
she’s stroking the hair
scratching the cheeks
rustling the leaves
like the pages of
an oft-read book
she’s stirring the smells
in her grey cauldron
summoning the memories
of all the Winds
long blown by
she’s fanning the fire
drying the polish
on her long black claws
smearing the lipstick
around her fangs
whipping the trees
and undressing their branches
while whistling whooping wheezing
roaring with laughter
at all my petty fears

© 2019 Erna Grcic 

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