Salva Animam Meam

Annie Blake is an Australian writer, thinker and researcher. She is a wife and mother of five children. She started school as an EAL student and was raised and, continues to live in a multicultural and industrial location in the West of Melbourne. Her main interests include psychoanalysis and metaphysics. She is currently focusing on in medias res and arthouse writing. She enjoys exploring symbology and the surreal/psychedelic nature of unconscious material. She is a member of the C G Jung Society of Melbourne and Existentialist Society in Melbourne.

Salva Animam Meam

roots      the thorny crown of trees      giant hands      stars embedded in night’s black
it doesn’t want the night to end like this      roots grow through the toes of bodies      embellished
clutched by sophistry       i drag them through rivers      underfoot      where water muddies

i’m not sure if i can call it by color      whether it’s passionless      or where there’s blood
or stone      where the ship passes      wading with her gut      her halo      if it has enough stretch
for the birds to curve out      their wings clipped by the injured edges of fire

her last breath      will there be enough of her for me      when i die      she can remove my boots      hand them over to my son      when he recognizes he must take the birth himself      embers
spiraling like a snail’s shell      i want a man who can stand on the church of stone
who can kneel on a mountain      gaping      with the skulls of those we kill      his womb a hearth      mooring his arms      how he learns to breathe      segue of his transubstantiation
it helps to pace the pains of birth

hair of his chest      milt in rabbit hair      consummated light      soughing      between
the mountains and the sky      each branch i advance to      i have faith that it’s you      in life’s long sleep      perception      how subtle our blows      to weld fire with yellow hair      hot rocks
a bell that fertilizes a wedding ring under the ground      stained glass views      warm me
like the fur of live bears      steam      perfumed smoke                                  eyes in my wounds


[image: crown for a wild queen | Daria Endresen]

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