The yellow dahlias were startled at first, then they shook their pretty heads in unison and laughed into the sudden sunshower. Behind me, the rhythm of her brass mortar and pestle unchanging as she hammered betel nut and lime into submission, the old woman cackled. I turned to see her toothless smile radiant across her cloudy face. “The raven and the fox are getting married,” she said as I strained to catch the slurred words, red juice pooling at the edge of her mouth. I nodded slowly at the old tale as she laughed again, her eyes filling. “So should you.”
I watched her. Half old crow and half cunning fox. Everything I knew, she had taught me since I was a little girl. I raised my face to the scent of the soft drizzle and imagined satin black wings that would let me fly into the freshly arched rainbows.
painted in liquid light
this grey gold sky
drips into my empty teacup