Reckoning

Monday, September 7, 2020

On this day we mourn for my ghost.
I have spilled my teeth over your words,
blood mixes with ink.
Take your brittle bones and bury them.
Let me know when you emerge as a dove,
shooing the raven to the ashes.
Count your fingertips to make sure they are all there. 

On this day I set fire to your hums.
Praying the fist of flames will bring life forth.
I am the church bell, and this is the reckoning. 
Count your fingertips to make sure they are all there. 


This piece was published by Ekstasis Magazine. 

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