Princes of Power from the Air
Deities hissing to feast on our lives, flogging trees to destruct the horizon, and pacing the earth to pierce its green, they hollow out boxes to hold our bodies. Though powerful enough to tear out souls, they can’t put us back in our corpses whole.
Hum
One day he showed up humming in her head every time she tied her shoes. She woke up once on her roof ledge, fingers spread and wired blue to umbrella tines. Even miles away, the voice still preyed upon her. So she hid under his stairway, hunted by slithering soundwaves, tying her throat to seek peace in dead silence.
Sepulture
Our sister is wrapped up in burlap, so we’re ready to dump her in the hole and then stoke her soul into bowels as fuel for the flame that comes to subsume her alive. Though she pledged to wallow in pain and shame, repenting from the suffering she caused by her birth, God decreed she deserves to be burned in the earth. Regardless of whether she worshiped or obeyed or gave away the bones of her unnamed young, irrelevant her plea to be loved by her family, she’s wrapped in burlap, ready for Hell.
Two lifetimes ago, Catherine performed her poetry in Madrid. Now her main jobs are to write and hang out with her family. Her work has appeared in Pank, Journal of the American Medical Association, and The Grief Diaries. Her chapbook, Soul Full of Eye, is published through Aldrich Press. Find her on twitter @czickgraf. Watch/read more at www.caththegreat.blogspot.com
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