Updated: Apr 24
a poem by Meghan Schrader, Senior English & Communications Major
A spring-born girl dances barefoot in the grass.
A fire burns in a backyard as bright as a youthful heart—
It turns something inside her burning, glowing, raging—
The cherry at the end of the cigarette dangling from her fingers is its child.
Bare feet hit the soft earth in time with a beating drum.
A purple skirt twirls up into the air,
Brushes against the dew-covered grass.
Crystals hang from her neck.
A ring on every finger,
Clinking as it grasps the neck of a bottle.
So much fire sitting in her belly.
So much summer’s breath in her mouth,
Rainwater staining her cheeks.
A smirk in the dark.
A glimpse of fangs and soft lips.
Her bare feet hit the soft earth and it echoes back to her.
Sweat sliding down her back,
Mud between her toes,
Starshine eyes above her.
She is the thunderstorm,
Laughing alongside the lightning.
It’s a spiritual experience,
Turning her celestial body,
She has been burning ever since.
Has been screaming at the clouds,
Daring some long-dead god to strike her down.
Vodka turns her throat raw, and everything is fire,
The smoke carries her laugh to the heavens,
So that the gods may hear it,
So that they will look down,
And see a spring-born girl rising to divinity.
Around a fire burning on a Summer Solstice,
In between the beats of a drum,
In the whisper of wind in the trees,
In the dew on the grass,
In the burning and glowing and raging under a night sky,
A goddess is born.