Saturday, November 21, 2020

Previously Published in Deep Water Literary Journal . . .

The First Taste of Poison at Dawn

The apple bleed through the desperation
of her grip.  Where
was her head?  Beneath a forested bed, 
two blackened beans are planted:
one to grow; one to sew.  The eyes
of misdirection are in her favor.
A bargain (and a needle's tip) is struck . . . 

One final thought rises with the sun
to bless the thorns blooming through her palms:
is it more than the proffered sleep
[g]ripping the edges of her mind?

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