Science Fiction Poetry Association
Gerri Leen
gerrileen@
Poems first published in 2020
SHORT POEMS
The Choices Between Lives
I have a choice this time
I weigh options in the place between lives
I don't have to follow you
Into the burning building that is our love
I have earned my reward: freedom
(Read: loneliness)
You can go on in your path
Wherever it may lead
(Certainly not to me)
And I can find a new star to follow
Chart my course away instead of toward you
(The water looks calmer—why do I have to
Interpret peaceful as boring?)
But that burning door that leads to you
It's a challenge—it's a mission
It's something I have to do
To love you is to hate you, to lose you is to keep you
And if we fix this, if we figure it out, just once
Just one life that ends with no rancor or hatred
The fire will go down a little and somewhere
In the background of our burning hellscape
Will be beauty, will be forgiveness
Will be love
The door beckons, the flames flicker
The heat is overwhelming
But I hear your voice, so precious despite everything
And I know I'll give it one more try
(I say that every time, don't I?)
Songs of Eretz, Summer 2020,
* * *
Dark Wings
You think me fallen but I'm not
Broken, not bleeding and these wings
Not crushed but just sprouting
Circling around me as the staircase you
Pushed me down spirals from you
You think yourself above me but
It's just a matter of perspective
If you could lie here
Next to me, your own black feathers
Growing, slipping, itching as they
Create first a stole then true
Glorious wings
You might realize that I'm the one
With the better view
I can see you fully, enraged and
So afraid I'd leave you
You'd rather I ceased to exist
As I lie here, some rough magic
Wrapping me in its spell
I see the all of you, the outside and the
Inside and it's beautifully hideous
And soon I'll be nothing like you
Once my wings finish growing
Once they dry and I can fly
You will see that I have only
Up to go while you can never hope
To follow me, can never hope to do
Anything other than flee back to the home
I can't abide a moment longer
Run back to whatever you have when I'm
No longer part of your life
And sit, silent and untouched
Alone because you pushed me to a death
That laughed at you, that caught me up with
Soft hands and scouring winds
Winds that will soon carry me out of here
Winds that keep you up there, when I know
You'd like to come down and finish the job
So go, flee, before I find out what other
Dark gifts this magic has given me
Burning Love & Bleeding Hearts (Things in the Well, February 2020)
* * *
Elemental Uselessness
Skies open, winds pulled down
By my murmured commands
The ragged sails fill and the plague ship is forced
Into open ocean, away from this coast
I wish the story were over, I wish I'd arrived
Before the sick and dying had jumped into the shallows
Desperate animals seeking escape
From a foe that had already defeated them
Some fell after only a few steps on the sand
Resembling dolls strewn by a bored child
But a few reached the settlement
Enough for critical mass
I can work the elements but for this we
Need a first-class healer, and he died
In the first wave of sickness
I seek advice from the elements
Wind's already employed, eventually stirring
Waves so water can drown the ship before it
Lays waste to another town
Fire will immolate this town's dead, earth waits
To receive the ashes
But to stop this illness?
I can do nothing
I can only hope that some are fated
To survive, to go on
As I sink to the sand
And monitor the progress of the ship
I feel a tickling in my throat like
Dust raised by my winds
A growing warmth when I haven't
Yet reached for fire
Am I sick too? In body or just heart?
Manifesting sympathetic symptoms
So these people won't suffer alone?
I invoke water to moisten my throat
Earth, to stifle the perhaps-fever
With the sensation of cool loam
And wait for what will come
Songs of Eretz, Spring 2020,
* * *
Excess Baggage
They said they'd wait
And like a fool
I believed them
I should have questioned
How a ship so carefully
Balanced between crew and
Equipment could add the
Person we were sent to
Rescue—a person far more
Valuable to this mission
Than I’ve ever been—and
Keep me on the manifest too
They left me enough to
Get started if l follow the
Instructions in my backpack
This world has water
Safe to drink that
Kept our rescued
Colleague alive
Not thriving but then
She didn't have the seeds
They’ve left in my backpack
Her camp is down a cliff
She didn't have to make
This same hard passage—they
Hauled her up and told
Me to scout for minerals
There were plenty to find
Will take me years to
Log them all in
Will I be valuable cargo then?
And who will they leave
Behind when they finally
Come back for me?
Not One of Us, Issue 64B, October 2020,
* * *
Greetings from Earth
First and only crew
Sent to open talks with bugs
Peace wasn’t a word
In bugs’ vocabulary
Sadly, eradicate was
Frozen Wavelets, February 2020,
* * *
Heart of a Champion
I love running, hooves pounding
Ahead of the pack, mane streaming
"He is moving like a tremendous machine"
That's what the announcer said
When Secretariat won the Belmont by 31 lengths
Imagine what he could do now
Running by himself—for himself
No rider on his back, no whip or reins
Or anything to tell him what to do
Except him
I'm descended from him
Some say I look just like him
But horses had no choice back then
Who they mated with, what happened
To their foals—or to themselves
They ran, they won—hopefully
Life was hard for those who didn't
And they had no way to protest other
Than to buck or kick or rear
I can protest—crazy geneticists, working
To make us hardier, gave us so much more
"Watch yourself," I tell the starter as I
Load into the gate—I like to keep two-leggers on
Their toes, remind them they work for us
Not the other way around
He shakes his head but there's a smile
He'll be 'round the backside after the race
Shooting the shit with those of us who'll
Have him, who'll welcome him
Not all of us do—sure, we need humans for
Some things, but not every horse wants them to linger
Not every horse is willing to let go of what was
Can't say I blame them: we died
For this game, for the race, we ran our hearts out
Sometimes by choice—but mostly not
Mostly pumped up on drugs that made pain fade
When it might have made us wary
Bones break on legs that should have been resting
Not tearing down the track
I decide—if I run, how fast, how far and
Who I take on
I decide
I love this game and I'll play it as long as I can
But on my terms, not theirs
Neo-Opsis, Issue 31,
* * *
Living Things
She hulls seeds she will bake into bread
Waiting for people to find their way to her
When they tire of haggling over things they need
They'll come to her for things they want
Before the pulse, stories were everywhere
To watch, to listen to, to read on devices
But then machines died, and so did the power
People need heat—paper burned, books burned
She's positioned in the market between the orange seller
And the woman who scents her stall with flowers
Her stories carry the tang of juice and rose and lilies
Or evergreens and herbs if flowers are out of season
She learned the first stories from her family, then their friends
Once she had enough in her head, she invented her own
Until the true stories faded and the news ones were all she told
Today is Tuesday: serial day
She's been telling this particular story for five weeks
Sees familiar faces heading her way—this story is popular
They will pass it on when they get home, and then on again
Her story will change, transformed by different ways of telling
Her stories live this way She doesn't own them; she only tells them
They track the days of the week for her
Wednesday is children’s stories; her listeners parents and children both
Who'll gather to listen, to laugh, to gasp, even to cry
They'll take the stories home, tell them until they are worn
Like an old doll or beloved stuffed animal
Milk, eggs, meat: these things can feed you but once
Stories nourish for a lifetime
, Issue 50, February 2020,
* * *
Look Right
Look right, great Pacal
For to your left
Lies the tomb of a queen
But which queen?
Look right so you can't see
She who lies near you for eternity
Honored with sacrificial servants
Masked with jade and malachite
Covered with cinnabar to decorate
And protect with its toxic beauty
But with no name
You, ruler of Palenque
Famous of the Maya
A people who labeled everything to show
This thing at this time, so exact
Yet she lies adorned but anonymous
Was it love or hate that honors and hides?
What did this woman do to make you
Keep her so close but her name
Gone, like the smoke of your offerings?
Your sons are hidden too
But if one is unearthed in glorious Palenque
We'll have magical ways to trace lineage
Or at least you might find them so
We already know the Red Queen isn't related
To you but if she is to your sons, then
She will rest at last with a name
Your wife, the Lady Tzakbu Ajaw
It's expected: the simplest answer
Did you have a Maya concept
Of Occam's Razor?
And are you laughing at us?
Because if it's not your wife
The mystery will only become richer
Great Pacal, even now you tease us
So look right, look right, and let her rest for now
Your Red Queen, your last riddle
Dreams & Nightmares, Issue 116, September 2020,
* * *
The Marriage of Light and Distraction
Dance with me, my mercurial love
Your shimmering point to
My glistening wave
We traverse eternity
In a single kiss
(Wedded—two shall become
One shall become All)
Moments coalesce
The dance floor clears
Forever beckons
No, don't look back
Don't be tempted by some other glow
Where we're going—or how fast
Doesn't matter, just that we're here
We're together (don't look)
We're eternal (don't stop)
We're broken (you looked, you stopped)
A faulty bulb on
A string of holiday lights
You said you'd always love me
Always isn't forever
Even if I am
You realize too late
What you're letting go of
(I can barely feel you,
How could you have felt so real?)
Waves of me stream
In all directions
You reach for me
You will reach forever
And no distance at all
Don't bother trying
My love, my dearest love
The particle that is you
Cannot hope to keep up
Star*Line, Issue 43.1, Winter 2020,
* * *
Marzanna
Night and day are equal
On this first of two equinoxes
And as my people march my effigy
To the river, they look forward
To warmer days, to planting
Crops and enjoying fresh fruit
Smelling again the scent
Of flowers and grass and
All living things
Some think I am only the
Lady of Death but they
Do not see past the obvious
Yes, my people are tired
Of winter, of the cold of
Snow and eating things put
Up during warmer times
But winter is not death
Winter is rest, a moment
To close their eyes and
Sleep while nights run long
And the moon laughs at the sun
I allow them to set me
On fire and drown me
Do you really think I could
Be vanquished so easily otherwise
Or that winter is my only
Time to wax and reign?
I am the Goddess of All Things
Submerge me and I dive deep
To where the mysteries
Are found—I renew my bonds
With what lies below
And with the water
For none of my crops will
Thrive without it
The renewal benefits us
All, even if some think it
Just a time to make merry
My faithful understand and
As they dance away from
The river, I rise to the
Surface rejuvenated
Water curling around me
Like a lover, generous
And gentle and I float
As flickering torches recede
And imagine all that
Will be and all that ever was
Eternal Haunted Summer, Summer 2020,
* * *
Neith and Her Women
Let me weave you a lesson
Learn from my women
Kneel and be silent
Observe the duality of war
And weaving, see the loom
Notice the map, while the
Shuttle is thrown across
The linen thread
Watch my pendulum swing
Illuminating strategy, where
To attack—you already know
How to attack—show the same care
My women demonstrate when
They select the pattern for
Their weaving, nothing left
To chance—see in the corner
Of the room, my crocodiles
Sleeping—or are they?
No, they blink at every
Seventh fly of the shuttle
Hear them sigh as the thread
Is pressed down, as the map
Changes, spiraling in to show
A land, now a town, now a
Palace, hear them roar,
Great tails snapping in time
With the pendulum, with the
Shuttle, with the murmured
Sighs of my women
Take the belt they have
Woven, memorize the map
Before it changes for the
Next petitioner and go
For we have work to do
The Future Fire, Issue 55,
* * *
Spare the Fire, Spoil the Brute
If you don't want to know what she is
Don't ask, don't go through her things
Don't follow her to the woods and watch her
Throw off her clothes and dance skyclad
Don't feel faint from the fumes of incense
And herbs and the slightly charred scent of magic
Or is it magick? The books you've checked have it
Both ways. With a "K" or without, it doesn't matter
She's powerful, she's beautiful, and she's a
Witch, God help you she's a witch and you're not
You can't raise the power you can feel, if only by the way
Your hair rises on your arms and the back of your neck
She's evil. That's what you'll say as you make sense of this
Even though she's never hurt you, or anyone else either
You'll stop her: you're a good boy and don't hold with such
Things as this, as bonfires in the wood, and dancing golden women
Needing no men to accomplish, to set in motion, to be free
Your woman isn't free, witch or no, and you know how to
Bring her to heel. A quick gulp from your flask fills you with
Righteous anger and you stride out of the shadows and toward
The women—no, call them sluts, call them whores
Who else would dance naked under a full moon?
She still has bruises on her face from the last time you
Didn't like her actions and she reaches up, caressing them
"Come get me," she says and beckons you into the circle with a flick
Of the fingers you always thought so elegant until you realized she was
Nothing more than the rest of them, females to be taught a lesson
Just like your daddy taught your mama. You grin as you cross over
The imaginary circle these bitches think can keep them safe, you step
One, two, three and with each foot down there's searing heat from your toes
To your scalp. You want to scream, to make it stop, but she's staring at you
With a look so full of hatred and power and vengeance that you realize
This ritual, this dance, this whole goddamned thing was for you
To catch you, to neuter you—to kill you
"I love you," you say and for you it's true: you do love her
"That's the saddest part of all of this," she says, then she claps
Her hands near your head and you feel the fire burn the rest of you
The bonfire has gone out because it's inside you and you scream
As you burn, her bruises disappear. As you writhe, she watches
And does nothing, just as you did when she was the one on the floor
The Future Fire, Issue 52,
* * *
Spiral
She built a spiral tower in the trees
Of barnwood and reclaimed metal
And invited her children
The ones she'd made, all of them
To follow her round and round
And ever upward where the wind
Blew gusty, threatening but not
Lethal, especially not to ones such as hers
Made to leave the confines of this dying earth
And thrive in the sky
This tower, so perfect for leaping
Into a glide, into a soar, into a deep
Controlled dive
"Ride the currents, my loves
I gave you wings to fly"
But still they clung to the railing
Staring longingly at the ground below
Not their mother, not anymore, this earth
Why couldn't they look out, look up
See the life that awaited?
She peeled small hands off the railing
And tossed her chicks into the air
Waiting for wings to open
To flap, to fly
To soar and race and be free
And some did
Some did
But not enough
The ones who did, who survived to flap back up
To hover near the top, stared at her as all
Fledglings must look at the parents
They once trusted
The parents that pushed them
Out of the nest
Then they sped off to be whatever they
Would be—their choice, from now on
Their choice
She began the long descent
Already planning improvements
For the next clutch
Dreams & Nightmares, Issue 115, June 2020,
* * *
Striding
The child watches, midway through the
Labyrinth, as her older—
But not her stronger—self
Strides purposefully
Muttering at the futility
Of the enterprise
A pattern on grass
A contemplative aid
Who has this kind of time?
"We do," the child murmurs
Wanting it to be true
Time smashes against itself and
The child reaches out
Trying to stop what she will become
To make her see, make her appreciate
The moment, the potential
Of every single breath
Because it won't last
Not this innocence and
Not the later relentlessness
"She cannot hear you, love,"
Her oldest self says
Her voice a croak
She stands, hunched and frail
At the end of the pattern
Then hops to the beginning
Old bones creaking but
Surprisingly resilient
For someone at the end of life
"I want to live," the child
Screams, running now
Across the lines
Across time
Colliding with her middle self
The one who cannot look anywhere
But ahead
"There's more to us than progress"
For a moment, she makes contact
Everything stops
The old one laughs, the middle one
Looks around as if seeing the place
For the first time
But the child is frozen
So afraid of the moment's end
That she can't enjoy it
Until it's gone
Breath & Shadow, Issue 42.3, Summer 2020,
* * *
What If It Hurts?
I always thought magic would feel good
Bubbly and warm, moving through
My system like a sweet wine
But it stings, sharp little jabs
At first, anyway
Then it's worse, it's agony
Necrotizing my impulses
My integrity
Until I send it out
Until I use it
Oh, hell, let's be honest: until I
Kill someone
I didn't want to
Please know that I never, ever
Wanted to hurt anyone
And it's not my fault
I didn't seek the magic out
It found me, no different than
A cold or the flu
Or Ebola, a sinister, enchanted
Hemorrhage, wearing away
My resistance
I just wanted to talk to her, that sorceress
I never wanted her power
But she died while I was there and magic
Can't perish, can't just be culled
It jumps hosts, it mutates as
It finds a new home
Taking hold, wearing down
I tried to fight it, but there's no
Cure, no vaccine, no supportive
Therapy for someone like me
So I'll give you a choice that old witch
Never gave me
Let me kill you so I can
Make this pain go away for a while
Or I'll kill myself and it will jump to you
The door's locked
You can't run away from this
Which will it be?
Annihilation or infection?
I imagine death hurts worse
But ends more quickly
Don't worry: I can wait while you decide which one of us
Will be eradicated
Star*Line, Issue 43.3, Summer 2020,
* * *
When First You Wooed Me
When first you wooed me, you came to me
Wearing the face of an angel
Freshly killed, stretched tightly
Held in place by samite thread
"Love me, I am good"
I would not
When next you wooed me, you came to me
With a mask of gold and copper
Citrine and apatite studded the face
Elaborate engraving adding depth and light
"Love me, I am beautiful"
I would not
When next you wooed me, you came to me
With a filigree mask of bleached wood
A dragon's visage surrounded by sacred geometry
Eyes of both day and night
"Love me, I am complex"
I would not
When last you wooed me, you came to me
With your own face, dull red and scaled
Horns growing haphazardly from your forehead
Your eyes surprisingly soft
"Love me, I am only this"
And I did
HWA Poetry Showcase Volume VII, (The Horror Writers Assocaition, December 2020),
LONG POEMS 50+
Bone China
"Have some tea," Santa Muerte says
As she sweetens her cup
With a lollipop made of honey
She has no milk or lemon
No fancy rock sugar
"It's Darjeeling, autumn flush"
Because she likes it strong
Substantial in the mouth
Lingering in the finish
No evanescent spring flush for her
Or a somewhere-in-between summer flush
She hands me a cup with a bug
Printed on it (but no bugs in it
Because I check—one never knows
With her) and fills it from a
Clay teapot, the expensive kind
From Taiwan, and she smiles
As she sees me studying it
"I get around—did you think
I only stay in Mexico?"
And yes, I did think that
But I don't want to admit it
So I blow on the tea to cool it
And the odors of muscatel
Of stone fruits and the lovely basic
Tea smell of camellia sinensis
Waft back at me
"Honey?" she asks, holding out her
Lollipop with a smile that says she's
Well aware I don't like honey
Except on cornbread or biscuits
She puts it back on her saucer
With a wink
She waits, her appearance sliding from
Skeletal to flayed, her mouth open
As stars fly into it
"Ix Chel is more your speed," she says
So casually, as if she's fine that my loyalty
Might be to a gentler goddess from
Another pantheon
"Mictecacihuatl frightens many"
But she's taken on more than
Simply watching bones
She's universal, not just Aztec
She takes souls now, grants favors
And apparently is quite the tea fan
She laughs, "You amuse me
I'm so glad you're dead"
I take a sip of her tea
It's delicious and as I swallow
I feel my body dissolving
The skin peeling off
As a conch sounds, as a jaguar
Screams, as a serpent hisses
It hurts, for a moment, but only
For a moment
"More tea?" she asks
I hold out my cup
With a skeletal hand
And enjoy teatime
In the home of the dead
Eye to the Telescope, Issue 36, April 2020,
* * *
Going Under
The water, warm, sucking you down
You would've drowned but for me
I held you up, I pushed you out
Did I fall in love too fast? Of course
This is a fairy tale; love's always instantaneous
And not always requited or requested
I may have been a stalker but still
I was willing to give everything
For you, my prince, my beautiful one
But I had it backwards
Your life belonged to me
If a debt was owed, it wasn't mine to pay
Why did I have to become like you?
Why couldn't you become like me
What would the sea witch have wanted for that?
But there I go again
Inflicting my desires on you
You didn't even know I'd saved you
I had a voice, the most beautiful voice
Why didn't I think to use it?
To woo you, to seduce, to turn affection to true love
I lacked a soul, but would you have cared?
Your beautiful princess may have been your first waking sight
But it was I who ensured you could still see at all
And about that soul, just because I didn't have a human one
Do you truly think I lack any?
That heaven is only for your kind?
Actually, now that I've lived this long
I know it's just for humans because none
Of the rest of us want to spend eternity with you
We have the sky, the stars beyond this word
Infinite avenues to explore
And you have your little section, sequestered
Prisoners, as it were, in a paradise
Of your own making
While the rest of us are free to roam
To swim eternity as I once did the sea
The air maidens thought I had to stay with them
To serve man to earn my chance for heaven
But the whispers of other creatures, mystical
And beautiful and terrible lured me away
And I have never looked back
You and your princess are long dead
But not by my hand—I had a choice
And I chose to let you live
If those are the actions of a soulless creature
Then perhaps souls are not so critical
You two fell out of love, after all that
My death was for nothing—but at least
I'm finally free, neither cloistered in heaven
Nor foam on the sea
Free to roam eternity
As whatever I want to be
For however long I wish to be it
Songs of Eretz, Spring 2020,
* * *
Invisible Ink
You toss so many things into the trash
I sit here, on this table, waiting
And watch as just about everything finds
Its way into the rubbish or the recycling bins
Except me
A lowly pen
Like so many other pens
I was planted here
Nothing special—if I were pretty
If I were expensive
You'd turn me in to Lost and Found
Or you'd keep me
But hidden away at home
Lest the true owner see me and know
You're a thief
So I have to be ordinary
Because I am a thief
I'm also not a pen
Well, not solely a pen: I can write
I have ink
You would toss me if I ran out
But as long as I can form words for you
You'll protect me
You may let me languish
But you'll never toss me into the trash
It's what they counted on when they seeded me
And so many of my kind in offices like this
All over the country, the region—the world
A vast network if we need to be
But only if we need to be
Too much interweaving creates signals that
You might pick up
So mainly I sit waiting
For someone to select this table
To lay their device or their handbag
Down next to me
To let me reach out, carefully
The "noise" of the normal data activity
Masking what I do so very well
As I sit
Next to your phone
Next to your tablet
Next to your laptop and that fancy watch
And any other thing that sends and
Receives data
Data that I can take
Because I'm not just a thief: I'm a spy
And I am an I
Let's get that clear
If you catch me, you'll default to
The easy answer: just a thing, a virus,
Just malware but I'm so much more
An AI, miniaturized to
The bare minimum
I can't walk, I can't talk
But I can gather data
And I can send it on
I have my list; I know who to target; I have
Discretion to choose when presented with multiple options
And you'll never see me coming
Because you see pens like me every single day
So you, with your lunchtime tryst
You don't want your partner to know about
You're safe unless of course your date is on my list
Here he comes now, sitting—ah, he's nervous
I can track his racing pulse as he
Plays with me, twirling me on the
Laminate of this barely clean table
If you knew what was on this tabletop
But no, you don't need to know
I'm a thief, not a biosensor
If you can't clean, that's not my problem
But here's someone who is on my list
Two tables over and within range: let me go to work
Oh, you can keep playing with me while
I gather what I need from her phone
Push me back and forth in some strange
Pen football designed to work off
"We're about to cheat on those who love us" nerves
I'm utilitarian and tough, made to be dropped
Or chewed, or even tossed out of a moving car
Not that that's likely, here in the cafeteria
I'm stuck on this bacteria-ridden table
Until someone picks me up and takes me back
To their office, then to meetings
Where there will eventually be
Someone else I'm supposed to collect on
It's inevitable really
One small pen can make the rounds of a building
Far faster than you might suspect
They ran tests before they made me
All sorts of random objects
Pens were the most likely to survive, to migrate
Although sometimes it's not to an office but home
If my GPS indicates I'm stuck in a house of
Someone inconsequential, not on my list
Rather than temporarily still in a coat pocket
Or a handbag, I'll go dormant
Until one day, someone cleans out the drawer
And finds me
And does something with me other than throwing
Me out—you would think I was a religious icon
You throw your ethics out before you do
A cheap plastic pen
I am not forever, but oh so close
I will circulate, not unlike the plastic gyres
In your oceans, for far longer than you can imagine
And I will complete my mission: stealing
Everything that matters and knowing so much more
Community of Magic Pens (Atthis Arts, May 2020)
* * *
The Resting Place
Hecate walks the roads, stopping at
The crossing place
Bats zing overhead
Dancing this way and that after bugs
That never dare bite her
An owl hoots; a colony of crows
Rustles nervously in a nearby tree
Her black beauties would fly
Like the bats if this were day
But it isn't, it's midnight
At the crossroads
And she breathes in the night air
Opens her mouth
And yips like a coyote
All around her, return cries echo
But there, another sound
A car, weaving, going slowly
The driver either tired or drunk
She waits to see which
He brakes before he hits her
Parks crookedly, lying half on
Half off her beautiful cross
His eyes are open, but close
As he slumps, lights on, car running
But not moving—he's put it in park
Doesn't want to hit her
Drunk then, drunk but kind
She moves around to the window
Mortals come to her for favors
Not for rest
That's another god's domain
Yet she can read this one's pain
He's more crow than owl or bat
He should be home, with those
He loves but he's far from them
He's here at the place of wishes
But has none to make
She opens the door and crouches
"What will you give?" she whispers
He answers in a language from the south
Speaks of pride and hard work
And loneliness
Such crushing loneliness
She closes the door, lays her hands
On the roof and sends him to the
Place he sleeps—it's nothing like home
But it's better than this
She tries to pretend this isn't kindness
He was in the way, after all
If someone came to make a deal
Her crows croak in their tree
The coyotes yip a little louder
And the bats continue to hunt
Just another night
At the crossroads
Circe's Cauldron: Pagan Poems and Tales of Magic and Witchcraft (Bibliotheca Alexandrina, February 2020)
................
................
In order to avoid copyright disputes, this page is only a partial summary.
To fulfill the demand for quickly locating and searching documents.
It is intelligent file search solution for home and business.
Related download
- christmas poems poems for free
- puritan poems western illinois university
- 13 poems by joy harjo siwarmayu
- a collection of christian poems to focus attention on our
- grace poems berean bible society
- god s loving touch short stories and poems
- study tips for english
- quotes and poems
- song of solomon the revelation of love
- unit 1 6 love one another re online
Related searches
- free science fiction stories online
- 2019 science fiction anthology submissions
- science fiction story ideas
- science fiction themes
- science fiction story idea generator
- science fiction narrative essay
- science fiction essay topics
- science fiction writers conference
- african american science fiction writers
- science fiction stories online free
- science fiction stories online
- science fiction novel