the enso

"Extensions" by marlowe

the poem

If a tree is life
then these exposed roots, tangled
like Medusa’s hair, half-drowned in water,
are the bloodlines. We want more

than these exposed roots. Tangled,
we twist our limbs, failing to see
our bloodlines. We want more
than the promise of power as

we twist, our limbs flailing, to see
how a legend is created from nothing more
than the promise. Power
leaves men stunned. In its wake, we fear

a legend is created. From nothing: more
power. This weapon attached to a shield
leaves stunned men in its wake. Fear
writhes, alive. Your head, the trunk, is

power, a weapon attached to this shield
like Medusa. Hair half-drowned in water
writhes, alive: your head is the trunk, as
if a tree is life.

the enso

"Renewal" by Diana Catron-Nurkowski

the poem

When you first stood, trembling,
your spindly legs as wobbly as egg noodles,
rib cage heaving with each earned breath,
you seemed amazed that you had been birthed.
You could not discern your destiny. You did not imagine
the wide red ribbons, the eager fingers
young girls would weave into your mane.
You did not yet feel the thunder
your hooves would smack down on a hard dirt track.
You had not tasted the pleasure of pasture.
You had no knowledge of duty or burden. But love
you did grasp as your mother
bent to caress your muzzle, your cry,
as you pronounced your life with a single whiny.