
Image via Pinterest (@Ravelrypins)
Divining with dregs of tea leaves: catch sight of a keyhole or a brain MRI -
amorphous algae submerged in a shallow pool, dull as a toothache and
silent, unlike the owl, last night, calling into the dark in salutation: claim.
Cool your tongue with the honey liquid that once singed it and savor that
which arrives on the verge of tears: chopped onions, blood, and clove oil.
About the Creator
Erin Latham Shea
Co-Founder and EIC of Housebound Magazine
Assistant Poetry Editor at Wishbone Words
Instagram: @somebookishrambles
Bluesky: @elshea.bsky.social
Enjoyed the story? Support the Creator.
Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed. You could also become a paid subscriber, letting them know you appreciate their work.
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.