A weakness flaunted in a coil of rope haunting in its appeal – a wick dipping my hands in wax – stretching beckoning Before my eyes – flutters of light trace veins within the wings behind silver whispers – threads of venom glinting lies disguise Its carrion leer The bite emblazons my heart beating a disfigured tattoo – a bodhrán tempering my soul – rending Its guttural tongue from the crater – I rise screaming bolts of black opal iridescence – invoking my source of creation a choir of dissonant harmony in the House of the Sun On the edge of the earth It beckons still – the fossil of my rage a contorted tree of glass – rooted reaching
BEHIND THE POEM:
This poem is unwilling to settle or be content with its form, but I believe in it. I believe because what is imbued in the ink that gave it life also gave me my name. I am not the quiet newborn with some ancestral reverence, I am who I am becoming: she who battles against and dances with a dark twin. Their willing confinement long ago compelled me to honor them by taking up their name for life. I am both triumphant and despondent in this poem because to thrive I must rend myself time and again — I have and am overcome with myself.
ABOUT:
Redde Michaels is a mid-life crisis student at SNHU pursuing her Bachelor’s in Creative Writing and English. Raised on highway radio as a nomadic hermit, she currently hides in her urban cottage while playing semantics with her mind. Her work has been recognized by Factory Obscura, In Parentheses, and Dipity. Find her on Instagram @the1redde.
EDITOR'S SONG PAIRING: Pony Dreams - The Wick/The Wax
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