<Prompt 16:  Write a Half-Way Poem>  Another half-started poem.  I don’t know where to take it, and my brain has hit the wall.  I think I tried to take on too big a myth for a quick poem, but here it is, based on the story of Vasilisa the Brave and Baba Yaga.  But first, one of my favorite pictures of Baba Yaga, by Ivan Bilibin:

It looks like she’s caught you, Little One.
No don’t scream or try to run.
You can’t escape her now,
and you owe her those three impossible tasks,
or your heart on a plate while you try.

Dust!  Cook!  Sweep!  And cook some more!
You won’t be halfway done before
the old hag comes swooping into the clearing.
And you’ve not even begun with the sorting,
grain by grain, good from the bad.

What is this task to teach you?
How quickly and how well
can you find the good wheat?
Does it require patience or will?
Stick to the plan and you’re certain to fail.
Who are your helpers?
What are the gifts that you carry
in the pockets of your apron?

The bright rider bolts across the clearing
and the day is halfway gone.
Listen, Little One,
to the voices in the wind.
Feel your mother’s heartbeat
in the rhythm of your own hands.

Gratitude List:
1.  Light.  Reflected, refracted, refreshing.
2.  Carnelian and Tiger Iron
3.  That orange orb of the sun setting behind me.
4.  That pale pink orb of the moon rising ahead of me.
5.  And in between, that pulsing orb of my own heart expanding ever outward.

May we walk in Beauty.