Dust Damsel

 

Meg Smith

 

When she comes to you,

the air in a coal study,

rivulets of flame threading her fingers,

the veil of smoke

becomes her. The glitter of papers,

pencils, books, desktop photos:

a child in a red jumper, budding of teeth.

She will surround you, flow through you,

and when she walks on, your hollow

cast of yourself will remain.

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The Lights of the Armory

 

Meg Smith

 

No flood will dim them,

no night will surround them.

Night waxes everywhere here.

A bridge forms between these towers

and the street of beginnings:

the house where dreams grew from

a doll in flames, the wanting of green walls,

the tears of night's rage.

Still, I found my witch. Still, she lives in

that place, with me. We are not bound by walls,

or hours. I stand here now in the self-made moon,

now a pool of dance, more than spells of soft words.

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The Cyclops Child

 

Meg Smith

 

Precious, you were made,

from sweet oils,

night's suffering,

and the impatience of dawn.

In teeth unformed,

and your own one true

bright sun, with or without sight,

I do uphold you, in these hours,

rushing, eye unclosed,

a portal of a true heart.

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Meg Smith is a writer, journalist, dancer and events producer living in Lowell, Mass.

In addition to previously appearing in Black Petals, her poetry and fiction have appeared in The Cafe Review, The Lowell Review, Dark Moon Digest, Aphelion, Blood Moon Rising Magazine, Sirens Call, and many more. 

She is author of six poetry books and a short fiction collection, The Plague Confessor. She is creator of the Poe in Lowell festival, honoring Edgar Allan Poe's three visits to Lowell, Mass. She welcomes visits to megsmithwriter.com.