Visiting the Charnel House by Hilary Hares

Dark came to the Charnel House
by way of bats and roaches

What in God’s Name? by Ceinwen E Cariad Haydon

Lottie laughed at his joke and he was startled. He had thought often about this strange girl and how he might get her attention. His moment of surprised pleasure was short lived as he watched her laughter turn hysterical and then to tears of pure grief.

Waiting for You to Come Back by Zoë Sîobhan Howarth-Lowe

I am sat cross-legged.

I have turned out all the lights and am sitting quietly,
just as you like me –

What Orpheus Did Not Know by Sanda Moore Coleman

What Orpheus did not know, of course,
was that she had flirted with death,
that the love-bite of the needle had already
pierced her skin

Cold Case by Betsy Housten

for S. (1952-1977)

“And I… will write my story for my better self.”
– Elizabeth Barrett Browning

My girl – my better self – I’m so sorry. You deserved
a different ending, one befitting the performer we were,
smitten with allegro and adagio and each speed in between.

Hired Help by Elizabeth York Dickinson

Spilling over like remnants
ready for the dump, the car
piled pieces of a life.

Peanut Love by Chad Musick

Though she’s allergic to my peanut love,
mom makes the lunchtime sandwich each morning,
says a prayer, takes a breath, rewraps the loaf,
tempers my warm smile with her chill warning.

a murder by Rebecca Kokitus

corn farmer’s nightmare, Appalachian reaper.
hills turn a blind eye when the death harbingers
cry three times like midday chime.

The Humming Casket by J. Hugo

An open pasture rusted with wild lilies, isolated
on the northern edge of town, a small pond
in the middle ringed by thriving maple:
it was there, thirty years ago,
that Uncle Bill killed himself.

Father Death by J. Hugo

July 27, 2017

This morning, my father sent me a photograph
+++++++ of two people burning to death in their cars—
++++++++++++ twinned fires blazing the dawn

A Crooked Stitch by Jonathan Douglas Dowdle

From room to room, and hall to hall, it beckons,
On the nights where sleep does not come,

Rue of Maiorum by Annie Blake

for Ehrlich

i wanted my life to live i noticed her green cat eyes her arms had been scratched by the sun thin like sucked meat of slither of bone swathes lifted onto the loft my life in no particular succession for i’m in atonement for my rendition