Erzebet Bathory’s Hazel Tree
Sprouted from the Earth like her slit veins
dilated winding silence I never heard the screams.
I was told during the trials, their mothers reported waking
along the edge of the village as there was no center, only hem.
And the screams of girls
like weeping wolves under the Hazel tree.
I was asked: are you someone’s daughter?
And I presented my pitted eyes, saying,
I’m your daughter.
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Sara Toruno teaches English at San Jose City College and lives in San Francisco. She is also the Poetry Review Editor for Boxcar Poetry Review, and her poetry has appeared in Ginosko, Temenos, Monday Night, Artistic Rights, and Perigee.
