The Storm Maidens
by Anastasia Andersen

On a grey frosted beach
with shadows deeply stained,
a cold print of storm clouds 
was laid across my arms and face.
Gulls shivered in the sky

and their cries were irresistible.
They led me unwillingly
to what 
at first I could not guess.
Three figures in black stone, 
like vultures—
no
women, I thought
cast from some jagged mold
sculpted by violent fists or blasted into being,
never born, half-buried

in the sand’s depression.
Those ruined storm maidens had arms
and a mockery of wings, bronze daggers each,
enough to impale the vacuum of air
before a scream.
The stone had such memories
I was forced to swallow

and I reached for them
and Oh, my fingers left marks
slow indentations
in the thousands-year-old leather
of their skin.

A shock of cold ocean water grabbed my ankles
and the gulls were everywhere
falling like sharpened stones.
I left them all screaming on that feast
day. 

I remember
running, falling on the grey sand,
a knife-edged shell
and blood to stain the shadows.

A small sacrifice 
to appease vultures and other legends.

Anastasia Andersen stopped writing for a few years, but she's "finally come to terms with writing dark/fantasy poetry." She says, "It's good to be writing again." Her work has appeared in Blue Mesa Review, Conceptions Southwest and Dreams and Nightmares, with new work recently accepted by Flesh and Blood Magazine. She has been nominated once for a Rhysling Award. Her inspiration often comes from music including Clannad, Loreena McKennitt, and Altan. You can email her at harperhall3@hotmail.com.