Gold dances in the memory of green eyes. Coils of fire flare in the dark of Erebus. She could cry...if she still had a body. Making her way with burning shades, she tries not to ponder that killers prey twice: the initiation of attack, and the peak when nervous souls abandon bloody bodies. Everyone here…
TW: sexual assault His gaze appraises her meat seems quite sweet: apple butter stirred out of the sun in steady shade at 70 degrees all year 'round. Undamaged, well-preserved for his eyes, His eyes, because other men are not visible in the vicinity. Her eyes dance wildly away from his, but her view doesn't matter:…
Dragging arms under shadows of cedars, the string-torn marionette finds comfort in the darkness of webbed branches blocking lunar spotlights from shouting her position: here, knee inverted like a bird, there, arm twisted behind back, now, neck at ninety degrees, then, spine stretched under split legs. But all the pain of twisted threads is worth…
Yesterday, Nereids opened sleep-blessed eyes in subaquatic crystal caves, not knowing they’d never return. Yesterday, Nereus washed his hands of his daughters, sent them in mists and drifts over selkie rocks to play with the seal-maidens where he did not hear their incessant laughter reminding him of shared grief. Yesterday, A lunar mind hemmed in…
Eldritch brambles climb the sky leaving no root-work behind to trace their trail. Only a gale hovers weaving in and around a thorn belly so the elderly doe sees but a friend, a rain cloud to bring her drink again to hydrate shoulders still housing organs fighting to live. One careful step, next, another. She…
How can the water ripple so gently, without a mind for wildfires coating the sky in sunset hues? Human cause is human doom; only humans can move sitting droplets deposited by gust and cloud absorbing drip of sap smoke, scarf in mouth chemicals, and shimmery boulder heat. When a pond weeps, where does it pool?…
The painted paradise of viridian water f a l l sis a flat intimation of rushing din to drown out the Giver’s frantic thoughts. I care too much, too often, in place of the others. I’ve lost my sense of self and hate the world for it. Someone give me permission to let go, let…
Salvos of memories sail through her mind, each one its own galleon, sloop, barque, frigate forming a most daunting navy. Metal rubs against metal so that no man can see the surface of the sea for her might. Nostalgic sadness, nostalgic gladness — like flotsam turned to bombs shoved in cannons — erupt in battle…
Granite walls without grout, one slab, no bricks, erected tall and long, concentric circles starting tight around my heart, the widest one right beneath soft skin the world sees my faux armor – I found this rock, mined it myself, alone, as I was trained to be for eternity. My makers were dedicated, but they…
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,…
National Poetry Writing Month
Keeping the world immersed in stanza.
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"The silence of the night awakens my soul"
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Saralyn Caine Poetry 