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  • Writer's pictureHelen N. Hill

The mugwort leaves beneath


my head speak to my soul from

under my pillow. I drink the occult


of the night as dreams of Goddess

Artemis surface. In a forest, among


the silver glow of the leaves, raucous

blue veins shine through the lush,


foliage. Artemisia exhales terra and

bitter and fluorescent voodoo. I feel:


into this moment, in these green trees,

into the pantheist sea and

into the fold of nature’s embrace.


I trust as I am turned inside out, alive,

in the twine of mystery. I glide:


into this spiral, in the fold of descent,

into the broad, fresh waterfall and

into the crest of the universe.


The magic in the wave peels away the

curtain of mundane and swells against the


humdrum of everyday’s stage. I day break

to mugwort crumpled in my hand. Medicine


guides a vision of me, out of that shadow

where I hang, out of the darkness into light.


 

Helen has a fine arts degree from St. Michael's College, Vermont and after the birth of her children, left a successful career in marketing to write and paint. She has been published in literary magazines and is currently working on a book of poetry about healing from a ski accident. When she is not busy developing her craft, she teaches yoga and ayurvedic cooking classes.

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