when i ran my fingers along the redwood bark
the forest held its breath
as the tree and i took stock of one another.
satisfied,
the tree gives a small sway
and i begin the speech
i’d long prepared
“gatekeeper,
i’ve gathered the keys from the horizons
i’ve traced the secrets of the soil
to our forest queen
grant me audience
i beg you.
the hour is late
and the seige is not long behind.”
with grand and pompous crack
the great old tree pulled root from earth
and began the long walk up the mountain.
my palm was sweating
as i fingered the flint in my pocket.
through sunset,
the redwood led,
crimson light leading us along cliffslide
smell the Pacific from here.
redwood groans in the growing wind
i pull my jacket close and pray for rain
slick sheets of the stuff
any reason to give up.
smell the Pacific from here
salt spray from the white caps
redwood stops,
drives roots back to soil
shudders a minute
and scrapes its canopy against the ground.
i bow too.
she comes
shadows and old stories
languages my parents never spoke in
old tongues and old countries
haunched shoulders scraping the sky
fingers long as nightmare
nose longer still
she comes
she smiles
glinting
as i finger the flint in my pocket.
“Baba Yaga.”
“Did you come, child, or were you sent?”
“i came, Bone Mother, to talk of your home.”
“I am the forest.”
“i’m more concerned with the one that walks around on chicken’s legs.”
the old crone towered
even crouched down to meet my gaze
with one infinite eye
“I could eat you, been a long time since I’ve had a good meal.
Don’t you know it’s rude to bring up painful memories?
Did your mother not teach you, child?”
i stood stalk still as her
vast carrion tongue
stroked my face
“Taste the love on you, child.
Bitter.”
“they found it Baba Yaga.
the bones of your hut.”
“And I bet they didn’t even make a soup.”
the Forest Queen rose to her full height
scraped an eyebrow with a long curved nail
while a low wailing sound boiled from the wind
i stood my ground as the host of spirits flew past
let them howl
“they know how it died.
that it could die.”
the two voids in her face swiveled towards me
lips parting from her filed and rusted teeth
“You smell like fire, child.
How well do you know the Old Forests?”
ancient songs begin
wafting from the shadows
“i come, Bone Mother,
to give you the name of them who would send me.”
lightning flicks from her teeth to her nail
as salted wind begins to circle around
“And should I pluck it from your bones, child?”
“a mother’s blessing protects me.”
“Nothing can save you from me, child.
Offer me something
close to you
and something more
that you must do.”
“Baba Yaga, i offer you my blood an bones
to do as you will,
i offer the names of those who would you ill.”
“Child, I have names, but your blood and bones will do.
Come to the fire next to Baba.
Have some soup
and we will talk.
Leave your flint on the ground.”
i shook
and set the tool aside
as she came to the flame
her shadow grew
and her body shrank
“You are brave,
even these days
to come to my lands at all.”
“these are not your lands grandmother.”
“All lands are mine, even if the people forget.”
“there are many gods.”
Baba Yaga sputtered and coughed
slapping her clawed hand against a knee
wet broken laughter
“There are no gods, child.
There are shadows and there are lights,
and do you flicker?”
“no Baba Yaga.”
“Then after all this,
maybe I am the shadow.
Have some soup.”
the old shadow handed me a bowl carved
from the skull of something vast
in it shreds of meet bobbed in bubbling scarlet.
“It is good for you, child.
Eat.”
i drank the broth
and i felt strong
i chewed the meat
and i was no longer tired
“Those hunters will guide you and your sword,
my little Blood and Bones.
For your life
I would that you take another for my table,
my Bright Little Candle
my Messenger.
Take my love to that old shadow
that American Dream.
That is the price of you leaving this place.”
“done.”
a grin spread like wildfire
across her knotted features
