Katrina and The Old Oak

**Note: This narrative poem is a spin off of my short story, The Old Oak Tree.** 

 

 

Freed from the vines, running, running from her mother,

from her brothers. Running from what she had done. Three

bodies, still as the bark of the old oak. Three bodies,

beautiful as spring, white as winter snow. Tears sting

like summer heat as she runs. Bare feet surge with energy,

pulling power from the earth with each step. “What have I done?”

“What am I?” She asks no one.

A voice calls out to her, familiar but absent for so long.

“Katrina.” She hears the voice, an odd tongue, unknown to her

before this moment. “Who’s there?” She called out to the

empty clearing. “Katrina, set me free.” Said the voice.

Searching wildly, red hair whipping around like a whirlwind of

flames. “Set you free? Where are you?” She asked. Within a moment,

the earth pulsed, forcing her body to stop where she stood. Her

heart beat rapidly, causing the skies to rumble with fear. Floods of

memories soared through her. A young red-headed girl, smiling,

running through fields of reds, pinks, violets, and blues.

A father, always close by. Chasing his little girl filled with

power unknown to the world. “Katrina.” Calls the voice.

Looking, walking, not knowing where her feet were taking her.

No, the earth, telling her to move forward. The old oak.

So tall, so strong. A place of warmth, glowing like the sun.

Leaves rustling wildly, branches reaching out towards her.

An image, a tall strong figure. Arms open, waiting, laughing,

wrapping around his red-headed girl. “Papa?” Calls Katrina,

staring at the old oak. “Free me, Katrina.” Her hands glow,

moving forward, inching closer. Feeling the heart of the oak.

“How?” She asks, so sure of who stood before her. “You will

know, at the witching hour.”

 

© Stephanie Cardozo, 2016. Stephanie Cardozo, All rights reserved.

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