Previous contributions from:

Frances Roberts-Reilly

Skeleton Woman: Cremator of bones

With automatic hand
Your oar, strokes amorously.
Your boat
Gliding on the river.

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Wing’d Heart

Naiveté says, a women’s heart is a white wing,
Flying high and free in the clear blue sky.
Yet hers is a downward winged spiral. A descent.

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Hecate’s Supper

You know these roads –
Here at the crossroads,
Where Hecate’s hounds
Howl at night.

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