The Banshee’s Lament

A soft steady chant

a whispering whine

begins a slow waltz

erupting as the screams begin;

The Banshee’s lament.

Plucking at coiled hair

tears tracking down soiled cheeks

I can hear the soundless tune

that she has wept

for centuries

announcing our very own deaths.

Time and time eternal

we have tried to outrun

this family’s inheritance

of a crone sitting in the willow chair

keening and wailing

calling out souls to rest.

The Banshee’s Lament

a tale from the old country

brought forth in the new.

The song so seductive

blood falls apace

as I lay at her feet

my death to commence.

©Jay-lyn Doerksen

 November 26/17