Are you okay?

My latest piece on Blood Into Ink

Blood Into Ink


Agilely she avoided

direct eye contact

shuttering pieces of herself so deep

that it was sometimes hard

even for her to find them

With the skill of a contortionist

she evaded direct answers

to the question

posed by so many voices over the years

their motivations as myriad

as the pebbles on Maine beaches

that sometimes cut her feet as a child

and at others were smooth as silk

against her palm



future selves

hung on threads

of hope and

equal parts terror

wondering how the reception

to a full confession

could become her salvation

or could become the weapon

used against her

finally damning her to hell

How could there ever be a simple answer

to the inquiry?

Truth was a tangled rope

as thick as her wrist

studded with thorns

shards of broken mirror


sprigs of fragrant salvia

slippery with blood

and memory

© 2017…

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