Garden [St. Jane Archives]

BY RAE LEMKE SPRUNG I grew out of fresh starts and believing in silver-tongued promises of second chances; thought stagnation was a curse and I had knocked on the witch’s door and paid for it and with the curse came pain – a buried-deep kind of awful underground in grief and heavy silence. souls are…

The March Snows March [St. Jane Archives]

BY RAE LEMKE SPRUNG The march of the March-snows heart is inexorable. You can’t stop in springtime slush, it turns to quicksand and pulls everything possible with it (that includes walking sticks. That includes girls who don’t know how to make a change). Spare and chilled and brown inside and out without reprieve, without snow…

Gillian, Lamented [St. Jane Archives]

BY RAE LEMKE SPRUNG This poem was originally published on the first incarnation of St. Jane Media on October 13, 2015.  Finger of God burst through remnants of stormclouds light pink and pale gold against grey newly forged iron red-hot with purpose and joy silver bright against dross tall prairie grass unflattened by hailstorms a…