Windwitch
written by: Marcy S. Wood
In the high plains desert of the Colorado plateau,
A tumbleweed, young and tender, wears a spring
green crown with blood red veins. From cadaverous
branches grows a globe of tiny gold flowers,
hummed by a cadre of salt flat gnats.
Baked under the sun’s oven, grit laden dust
devils from red rock basins break her dessicate
body. A tangle of spider-web sticks, she
wraps the crossroads of post-rail barbed wire.
Abused and broken, her sheathed pods open,
spreading seedlings across rock and arroyo.
In dark cracked mud the resting remains root.
Marcy S. Wood, MA, loves hiking and yoga. She lives in Ouray, CO. In 2022, her poetry was nominated for the AWP Intro Journals Project in 2022, and third round of Colorado Hearts and Minds Contest. She is published at Rat’s Ass Review, Stick Figure Poetry, Spillwords Press, and the Avenue Journal. She writes in a haunted house with a wooly Bern-Newfie at her feet.
Latest posts by Marcy Wood (see all)
- Windwitch - March 21, 2026
- Adrift - November 6, 2025
- Christmas in Ouray - December 20, 2022
