by Michelle Pearles

How long have I stood over you, weeper?
My shadow smothers and I block the light,
thrashing my claw through your nest and bare roots.
These grey soot fangs snatch fowl from sky. You fear
me, kneeler. Raven spies you in the deep.
She plucks you like fish from cold water, drops
you, flapping, choking, severed, at my lair.
I drag you back, smear your ochre and iron
on my walls. I hunt the pieces of you.
I slice cords, unbind your sinew. She weaves
and I stand over you, sleeper. Stories
sway in firelight. Raven’s door yawns open.
I rock you, pitch and roll, and drift you out
her bright and rippling gate. Draw breath. And wake.

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About the Author:

Michelle E. Pearles is an emerging poet with previous experience in the practice of law and surgical oncology nursing. She is based in Farmington, New York and is currently working towards a creative writing micro-credential. Her favorite apple is the Haralson Apple, a cold-hardy variety that retains its integrity when baked. She has a Haralson apple tree in her backyard, along with three other apple trees.