Poetry: “She-Husk”

Photo by Lucas Lenzi on Unsplash


and the she-husk sings,
divine crimson echoes
on the stage of stale love.
all the gods and
all the monsters
stare and imbibe her wisdom.

it is not the singing that hollows her
like burying skin and shell under earth
where a devil drags her withering
by one alabaster hand.

it is the not-singing—
you, cicada-man,
I am not
a waiting room for your thousand reposes.
cloister yourself in someone else’s

© Cat and Moth Writings
All Rights Reserved

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