Gillian Prew-

Essence of a Protracted Wound

Falling from the fade of a burst sun

my bride rides a drowned wind,

honeymoons on the viral grave

where the dumb mouths of the dead,

narrow with nostalgia and lavender lies,

snap in a fragrant rage.

Her liminal love with its dug arms

scoops the red roots of the tight trees

where her best wedding was throttled and laid,

and her lit loss burns in her brain

scorching the slow madhouse of her days.

              

               Poem in June

               Sunlight worn child stuck in her stain;

present and poor in the long dust

her heart beats like birds drowned

and drowned

in the womb’s breath blood.

On the shore of her mind

wind puffs a stiffening tide born

                             

and born

in the levelling loud.

Sweet with despair like a buckling bride

time blooms brief the spell of her skin,

the size of her grief a dwindling wreath

on the sore summer seed of her grave.

Gillian Prew can also be found here: http://gillianprew.com/