Letting Go

with the effort of one thousand yeomen

I prise the wilted tendrils of ether

from my clenched and clammy hands

having longed with a furor near delirium

for enchantment

for silver-spun magical threads

love strung by iridescent fairies

I grasped at shifting shadows

clung to drifting feathers with ferocity

in my feverish clutch

wings of paradise crumbled

celestial ballad faded

with herculean strength

I open my cramped fingers

release frayed beauty

wishing upon my fallen star-self

Phoenix-like, after the inferno

captivation, free, may re-birth

 

 

Crestfallen

riding the crest of a moment of power

I crash facefirst into the trough

choking on salt-water spray

self-generated

I scrabble upon the shore

gasping

scraped upon the grit

resurgent in pounding grief

tonight will not be the night

I control the storm

pulse lightening from my fingertips

I survey the shipwreck

knowing I was

not the captain

tonight survival is power

 

Possessions

demons

disguise themselves masterfully

competing for honors at Carnival

cherubic and beaming

they devise diabolical inducements

haloed incubi

ferret out hapless innocents

roasting over flames

display for her

their spit-turned agony

heart bursting

she inevitably

scrapes and gnaws away bindings

bloodied in the clawing

only to discover

scorched limbs

-possessed by parallel demons-

refuse release

panic-stricken

she covers their charred skins

protective

curling herself around

melting flesh

having not yet

met her own demise

but carrying scars

in incinerated futures

this time

she catches a whiff

of smoked hopes

amongst fiendish enticements

does not abandon

smoldering victims

of their own monsters

slashes at ties

cajoles unprising

from frozen captive

when inferno rages

unremitting

martyr remains

unwitting

she lets go

blisters rise

over heart and dermis

looks her demons

in their glowing eyes

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sing, Nightingale

my tongue remains

whole, intact

yet strangely tied

on subjects

of my subjugation

a likely consequence

of messages

spoken and

unspoken

on the importance of

politeness

no boat rocking

diplomacy

courtesy

deference to authority

using my manners

being considerate

toward others

being, in general

a good Catholic girl

I am done

biting my tongue

to protect you

from discomfort

at hearing

the reality of

my experience

 

no more

fucking

Ms. Nice Gal

Pressurized

quiet is unnerving

air, in its stillness

belies the charged tension

weighting her

waiting

birds flutter

restlessly

mocking static strain

with aimless

twittering

heaviness of heart

condenses

burdens crush

denser in

stagnant portent

breath thickens

saturated with apprehension

quickening

as she listens

for a gathering storm

(image: Deviant Art)

 

 

 

Once Upon a Friendship

(For KM, upon the occasion of your 50th birthday)

 

upon meeting

pre-teen

I was the new girl

bookwormish and shy

hiding lonely heart

behind nerdy glasses

you – social butterfly

alit gently

on my spirit

I can still see

your tears drip

in geometric proof

of adolescence’s

torment

we forged a friendship

staked out among

Catholic school hallways

sealed with MadDog

in high school

80’s escapades

hilarity in hijinx

recolored in retelling

collegiate, we conspired

in wing-spreading

we were accomplices

in the shape-shifting

masquerade

now known as

adulting

our paths diverged

o’er years and miles

yet connected by

steel gossamer strands

stronger than shared

herstories

more durable

than Catholic guilt

we have stretched the limits

of our connection

find it tenacious

dependable

travail enduring

friend of my heart

now and forever

 

(art: Monica Stewart)

Ghost of a Love-Aurora Phoenix

Secret First Draft honored me by featuring this piece of mine today. Go check out all of their amazing writers!

Secret First Draft: Member of the Sudden Denouement Literary Collective

you

visited me

last night

as I slumbered

alongside someone

who is not

who can never be

you

it was innocuous

as hauntings go

there were no howls

blood curdling screeches

no echoing clanks

of leaden chains

no macabre dripping

or bloodied bangs

there was just

you

stripping me bare

in the timber

of your tone

that gashes

in its absence

my very bones

you

whose deep gaze

pierces my soul

in the turning

away from me

you

whose tender touch

has torched

skin from my flesh

as it thirsts

for your hands

you

whose haunting

I want

to return

night

after night

only

you

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