Issue No. 2, Autumn 2012

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Taja

that summer i rose from my grave, sighing & feverish, my hair spread out around my head, flowers crushed between my legs. i strained upward toward the murmuring of growing things, and all night i moved above the dark light of small, wild places; lit down finally onto your skin; settled like a hushed prayer over your bones.

there i became the earth and the water and the wide, hot moon, guarding you with my fecund temple, touching you with my reed fingers. my cobweb hair.

my body chanting you.

.

this woman is an altar. my incense. these candles. this place is a place of worship, this room, with doorways, these hands, with you on them. this mouth. and this mouth. and this mouth.

my slow purr.


Ta (stage name Taja) is a sometime writer, constant feline worshiper, unconventional belly dancer & aspiring bon vivant.

Ta exists in an incredibly beautiful area in western canada where she lives with one quiet, clever boy and two lazy felines. She is a high summer spirit with a wild appreciation for autumn and an affinity for everybody. She burns a lot of candles, talks in spirals and deeply loves the rain. Visit her: undreaming.net