Writing on Wednesdays #11

Bote: German for Messenger. I woke early one morning, sprung out of sleep by something unknown. My bedroom was freezing cold, like a window had been left open all day and into the night, the cold winter air filling the room like smoke. But, the window was closed and had been all day. I blinked… Continue reading Writing on Wednesdays #11

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Wolves.

Another night of howling, coming from under the floorboards. Smelling of earth, woods and leaves; their paws dig. Claws at my head and at the breaks in the wall, open gaps letting in the night of a February eve. Their tails brush the plumes away from my dusty house, leaving hairs from the forest in… Continue reading Wolves.

Monument on a tree.

Walking through the maze and hazes of trees and possibilities, a creature with crow wings and a beak like a circle came pointing at me from a bush. Not an animal like any creature I had seen, though it shivered and jolted like one. Perched, on an unstable branch crying in the wind, its brim… Continue reading Monument on a tree.

Residents.

A whisper came from the house last night, from the gaps in the walls and the spaces in the ceiling. A sudden deafening hush. A book once told me everyone who lived in your house left shadows, and those shadows crawl under doors to bedrooms, and settle under beds. Lost widows and sick children from… Continue reading Residents.

A Revenants allure. (A poem about vampires.) Like the instant before your eyes close and your body gives in to sleep, Like the ache in your throat that bulges and grows when you weep. It’s like the eruption of purple thunder, growing vast in the skies, It’s like the crack deep in your stomach, when you’re… Continue reading