Zana Ali


Come, you of the afternoon blood,

with your crown of plumeria blooms, scarfed in yellows.


Let me get dizzy, drunk

on the palm wine of your bones,

from those shoulders cut by the unholy sun –

and you shall have around you a garden

wherever you go: tuberoses sweating

to perfume you, your laughter caging

the birds in love.


Then you shall have me, the jungle’s ancient dancer,

separuh madu, separuh kemiyan,

anointing your dreams with gold,

gold and gold.

ZANA ALI is a priestess of olive trees and an admirer of Saint Raphael. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Twisted Moon and Liminality. She can be found sculpting her passion for writing out of mythology and neurotheology at

Back to Issue 4 - Fall / Winter 2017