by Linda M. Crate you think onlywerewolvesknow metamorphosis?you think onlywerewolvesknow the moon?she is my kin,my mother,to be specific;the night is when i feelmost alive—you buried me duringthe day when i was still sleepinglike the coward you were,but i woke up;and i broke out of that coffinleaving earth and your name behind me—reclaimed both my voice and my power,learned my magic Read More
Tag: moon
When the moon spills the secret
by Megha Sood My memories,so scarred and yet sublimeare made of the moonthat white orb of truth,shining mighty high Sitting high in the cleavage of the nightwith a shifty-eyed smilepasses the wisdom from night after nightyour heart, it says,has to go through the phasesto become fullwith joy and grief alike my mottled skinsieved by the milky moonlightimbued with the softness Read More
The quality of protecting
by Ray Ball, PhD The centertastes likecoconut,drunk as a delicacy.In the moonthe apocalypseof fruit.Inside it,the absence.They requirestrength.It seems incredible that they cancontain whateverI know.And that Iand theyare softin texture. Note from the author: This is a found poem. The original text is Jane E. Mangan’s critical edition of José de Acosta’s Natural and Moral History of the Indies. Ray Ball, Read More