Blood, Screams and Wild Woods

A mother? No.
I haven’t had one
of those in years.

I birthed myself real
out of the belly of a beast
who dined on loved flesh
and snacked on lies.

Of course, I remember
the day. I was born of blood,
screams and wild woods.
I was eleven and a moon
and wholly crimsoned.

There used to be a mother,
once upon a time. It’s true.
But she was eaten, bit by bit,
by ravenous plot monsters
that haunt ever afters.

Yes, my grandmother still lives
in me, written inside my skull,
bewaring me of lies and wolves.

written for Beyond the Ever After – Dark Poetry for the Cruellest Month, 2016 (Day 11)
linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, Tuesday Platform

Red, by C. Madison-Peters“Red”, by C. Madison-Peters
(find more of her yummy work on her website and on Instagram)

Howls Are Forever

In spring, sharp scents vapor from her skin… to den in his nose. He shuts his eyes, wishes for a world bursting with circular winters, for three ways to negate the moon, for wild magic that turns teeth and snout into the beak of a crow. She slides out of bed, and the fluid music that spills from her movement tells him that parts vital to their loving are melting out of her.

a daughter of snow,
the wendigo in April,
falling to pieces

He loves her still—a son of the moon howls his love to only one, and that’s forever. But love (you, ruthless beast!) comes without rules. There is no susurration pumping through the frozen red of a heart, warning that lovers should be exposed, kissed, and poked in all climates before mating. His wife creeps back to bed. He reaches for her, and his hand—freed of the moon—caresses her hipbone, plays with the flowers blooming out of the soft flesh she has left for him.

a wee note: the wendigo is often associated with winter, ice, and extreme coldness. Werewolves are often portrayed as having a highly developed sense of smell. Partly inspired by the following Terry Pratchett quote: “…witches are quite careful about what they say. You can never be sure what the words are going to do when they’re out of earshot.”

written for Legendary Beings in Love – Dark Poetry for the Cruellest Month, 2016 (Day 9)
for When Good Wishes Go Bad, over at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads

Blossom Face, by Shelle Kennedy
Blossom”, by Shelle Kennedy