My mother was a bird long of neck, wading in slate waters and afraid to fly a gray choking sky peppered with cracking snaps shot off by a Browning Gold 10. Those wingless aliens had no home in the wood, appeared in deafening shells no hermit crab could conceive, and wielded such branches that splintered,…
Snow skin, pink cheeks, smooth brow, brown peeps, blue lips, chiseled teeth, black tongue, banshee shrieks, rough palms, tiptoe creep, needle claws, lack of sleep. Her life is lovely, dark, and deep: a storybook lie so no one sees spread spider-veins, stained memories — the blood-red soul she should not keep. AUGUST 2022 UPDATE: Obviously,…
National Poetry Writing Month
Keeping the world immersed in stanza.
About fantastical places and other stuff
"The silence of the night awakens my soul"
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Saralyn Caine Poetry 