Sundown
Monastery of boar arms
Allows a gunshot that comes through your mouth
I hit every pathway
running
Scattering myself
*
A lone fox quibbles with the road
Evulses dew from dead eyes
She's a shadow of mine
when I find her
I lost her in my grandma's soup
Finding that tail
doesn't feel like a prize
*
I will grab it
with childhood hunger
She's twig-like, she's a concoction
of debris
*
We're running, hushed by moss
wedged between our bones
There are so many meanings
to togetherness
Shared fear
being one of them
Allows a gunshot that comes through your mouth
I hit every pathway
running
Scattering myself
*
A lone fox quibbles with the road
Evulses dew from dead eyes
She's a shadow of mine
when I find her
I lost her in my grandma's soup
Finding that tail
doesn't feel like a prize
*
I will grab it
with childhood hunger
She's twig-like, she's a concoction
of debris
*
We're running, hushed by moss
wedged between our bones
There are so many meanings
to togetherness
Shared fear
being one of them
Montero
A bell becomes a sackful of blood
when our eyes meet
I know
I'll re-learn the lore of wolves
soon
Mother is not required here
Mother is a minatory essence
A warlight that
brushes against my knee
Such an
inconvenient rite
I see more bells
I
touch a paw
In the subtlety of
this grave
when our eyes meet
I know
I'll re-learn the lore of wolves
soon
Mother is not required here
Mother is a minatory essence
A warlight that
brushes against my knee
Such an
inconvenient rite
I see more bells
I
touch a paw
In the subtlety of
this grave
Agnieszka Mauch hails from Poland. She's an avid reader who occasionally dabbles in writing and photography. In her works she enjoys exploring darkness, womanhood and her dreams - mostly the haunting, disturbing ones. Her poetry has appeared in Poetry Breakfast, Cyberhex, Aliteration and Eunoia Review. She can be found blogging over at wolfstrail.tumblr.com.