Daemeness. monster. Wich.
olivia johnson
––following
the Hunt
she stirs. just the slightest. two schoolboys drag chalk over
her dangling feet, spell out
Daemeness. monster.
Wich. they run out of room and therefore tear through the seams of her ripped
stockings up to the knees, careful not to touch lest the fabled poison of her skin tastes
their fingers, and spell it louder there
Daemeness. monster.
Wich. as though she does not know what she is.
when they leave, they drop the sticks of chalk by the tree’s base.
her body watches over them and makes no move to wipe away
their misspellings. they’re just children, after all. they’ll believe
her skin before they believe anything else.
by nightfall, her skin brittles. wind whips her hair, a quick
rain runs in rivulets down her frame, muddles the words
but never erases
Damene. mOnter.
Wicd. at dawn, the shepherd’s son visits the tree and leaves half an orange, a
tealight candle, and several nettle leaves in the grass. with careful hands, he uses
the torn wool of her stockings to scrub away the letters. they do not go easily or do
not go at all:
Dam. mOnte.
Wd. he presses a warm kiss to her toes, finds the chalk, crumbles whiteness
into anger. his hands rise and cup her swollen abdomen where life bestilled is
immortalized in the body, cry lullabied into silence. she watches over him,
chin to chest, eyes almost closed as though waiting to hear for a retrial. “a
victim,” he calls her but does not cut her down. “a martyred angel of God.”
Dam. mOnte.
Wd. he leaves soon after so that suns may burn her skin and thread crimson
through the veins of her hands frozen in Reaching. awash in sunlight, her
body glows, memorizes, holds onto
Da. mOne
Wd. no one returns for her after that. the magpies steal her hair for their
nests and the squirrels chew out her lover’s rotting offspring. stripped, her
body watches over them and makes no move to defend herself. they’re
just animals, after all. that poison in her has long since soured. only a
branding sweetness remains
Da mne
d.