by Reilley

Created on: January 03, 2010

BABA YAGA IN THE MODERN WORLD

Boundless anger bleeds her eyes
More red than eyes can be.
A dozen centuries and more
Writ large across her face
In crevasses and pustule

Give lie to reports of her demise.
The dirty skies above her homeland
Taste of grit, sewage and despair.
Her herd kills itself in slow disdain
For her gifts.
Likewise has her tribute
Vanished like the white
Of the snow along the Volga
Replaced by filth.

Movement, always movement -
Stillness would prove fatal.
From village to urban blight
Back to village
She hunts, seeking the goat
Left by her herd in exchange
For life, health, abundance.
Finding nothing, her gut churns,
Her anger builds.

Hunger threatens to challenge rage
No tribute in over a hundred years
Still she flies
Thrusting pestle at wind currents
Jumping from star to star
Outrage to outrage
On to the next disappointment.

Worn weary by lack of homage
She retires to her haven.
Chasing her insolent house,
Avoiding its taloned rebuke.
Let them survive another winter without.
Perhaps then, they will
Seek her favor.

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