SKIN
by Diana Radovan, Regular Contributor

I shed layers of skin like the green snake I see
In the morning grass of the castle gardens.

Inside my body lives a woman I have not yet met,
She is young, but her soul is older than memory.
Sometimes, I hear her whisper. She does not roar.

The snake brushes against the carpet of dry leaves.
Near Neptune’s fountain, Medusa’s head lies trapped in stone,
In the hands of Athena, Goddess of Wisdom and War.

I cross the bridge of branches to the other side, into the woods.
I discover the trees within myself, with everything they carry;
Their sap is moving upwards into everything, everywhere.

I feel the sun burn on my skin,
The old woman is alive, wilder and bigger than life.
Inside me, she roars.

Her voice is a wild rose that breaks through stone.

Diana Radovan PhD ELS is a multigenre, Romanian-born writer (of poetry, fiction, creative non-fiction, and hybrid forms) and teacher of writing living in Munich, Germany. Nature, wilderness, voice, and the crossing of borders play a crucial role in her writing and her creative practice. Her work has been published broadly across languages and borders since 2004. She is the founder of the multicultural writing group Creative Writing in Munich and a Sarah Selecky Writing School Faculty member. In recent years, she has actively engaged in a number of collaborations with other writers and visual artists living in Munich. Currently she is working on her first book, a hybrid experimental memoir spanning three generations. Read more about her and discover her awards and publications at dianaradovan.com.