Poetry

Clay

The soil clung to the woman’s fingers

as they stuck up from the ground.

It was evening, violet candies crunched underfoot

scattered around where she’d buried herself.

She’d needed to scream, and lacking

a place to release it, had dived into the earth

to let her voice ripple the clay

into the shape of her frustrations.

Poetry

Ramble Tangle

My eyes are tired,

it’s been far too long,

examining words

I’d long thought were gone.

 

The night draws up,

a blanket to my chin,

yet the letters reel on,

I cannot give in.

 

Searching and searching,

I sew back my soul,

catching those secrets

I’d left to grow cold.

 

Time makes it clear,

the rivers flow by,

I’ll take my chance now,

speaking no lie.