Good night and hello, my wandering one, Deep in the moors, and whence did you come? Quaking and pale, cheeks kissed from the winter, Frost in your hair, lips frozen and splintered. Step over my ’thresh, blackened by mold, Smothers the spot of whitening gold, Tortuous star in celestial tower, A shriveled heart, now ashen flower. Surely you pity this human-like form, This diet of red, this home among worms, Prostrate the dust, alone with the slaughter, Stretched upon bones of unfortunate daughters. Why do you shrink, my sweet little meat? My body has ceased, but eyes still may weep, Take hold of my fingers, sink into the clay, For shame, wary boy, you now turn away? Come to this corpse, breathe into the tomb, I came from the fire, torn straight from its womb, Throat withers within, I gasp for the veins, Along with the twilight, a stolen life wanes.
Bernadette’s work has appeared in a variety of literary magazines, including Ruminate, Braided Way, Introvert, Dear, and The Mindful Word. When she isn’t exploring her latest existential crises, she dabbles in writing children’s literature as well. She can be found at https://www.bernadetteharris.net/.
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