February

Originally published in Right Hand Pointing issue 136a

The last snows deepen, silenced by time.
I don’t know what it means.
A fragment of last year is
still buried under the skin
here, peace that was
sunshine waits coiled inside my head
in caves of unrest.
I’ve forgotten what summer is – almost
yet people try to force the mating rituals far too early.
Romance is fine by me so long as it is happening to other people.

May

Originally published in Right Hand Pointing issue 136a

On a day such as this,
gustful and humid,
blue sky leaking out
I wake up with a sandpaper chin, hangdog
in the middle of the woods
next to a strange queen
and she feels low joy
from the birds in our keep
while she asks me
do flowers speak?
Was love always this dark?
Time is the sad thing
shining out of her sharp eyes.

October

Originally published in Right Hand Pointing issue 136b

Feel the crystal fright.
The leaves are turning to summer shrouds.
Onsetting cold repels the warmer folk
encouraging frostbitten nails
as we leave Mother to sweep out the House.
Night is drawing down already.
She has no idea what to say
as she opens Hell’s old door,
unravels the corded line,
and hangs the ghosts out to dry.