Poetry: Baba Yaga (For Inga)

This poem is dedicated to my best friend and platonic soulmate, in the hopes the it will always remind her of her own power.

Baba Yaga

(For Inga)

Your heritage is something

of old magic, waiting in the wild,

bone deep with iron teeth,

somewhere between fact and folklore.

Let the princes and wizards

play their games at your expense.

You can smell a man’s spirit.

You are the clouds, moon, death, life.

Sweep away the traces of your

dalliance with the world of mortals.

Use the same silver birch broom

to travel the wind. Your soul friends

are at your command, fierce

general of bright dawn, red sun, dark

midnight. Never mind that there

is earth mixed with your poppy seeds.

There is more to life than fake smiles

and carefully chosen words,

putting on illusions for the comfort

of others while they mistake

your generosity for a weakness

Who is it that foolish men

turn to for help when they open

the forbidden doors? Baba Yaga

can aid them or devour them.

Such is the energy that is within you.

Balance they call ambiguity.

*This poem was first published by Night Picnic Journal.