Fall Awake

At night I turn into earth.
It frightens me
My terrible solidity
The buzzing, electric hum-magic of my sandbagged arm
A leaden thing I have to carry to another position

My female body:
Congeal
marble

The Bernini sculpture: Apollo and Daphne
He in pursuit, she
Bursting into tree
Turning into earth
A solitude
Earth, hers.

Under the sun, I am chased by the day-ghosts:
an October leaf, loosed by a
Thousand winds
Possessed
Skin bruised by arrows, fingers, light

At night, I am
The forest
Legs cracking into bark
I swell and stiffen
And wait
For the fear to pass like fog through my
Branches
For my feet to root

Here I come
Down
Into myself
Here I am
Solid
Earthy
Buzzing with being
(Perhaps safe)
Held by darkness
I am.

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Ilse Griffin received her BA in English literature and creative writing from the University of Wisconsin-Madison, her MA in TESOL/linguistics from Hamline University, and her Graduate Certificate in Teaching Writing from Mankato State University. She is a meditation practitioner, teacher, and year-round bike commuter. She has been published in Where is the River, Funny Looking Dog Quarterly, Pif Magazine, Talking Stick, Anti-Heroin Chic, MayDay Magazine, Bending Genres Journal, and forthcoming in Spry Literary Journal. She loves in St. Paul, Minnesota.