Category — Poetry

Her name was Tina,
but that’s not what we called her.

She wore fishnet stockings, black and torn;
green faded hair with hooks in her nose.
She chewed with her mouth open,
and kissed with her eyes closed.

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Somewhere I was lost
In a maze of misdirection,
But when I slipped down the rabbit hole,
Misdirection stumbled onward,
And my ember remembered the loss of me.

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In a dream I called to him
In the night he swiftly came
Emissary saint, the Lily Angel

Wrapped in his bridled embrace
I lay a cradled child
His unfolding flower, his yielding prey

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Hickety, pickety, my black pen–
it writes of only evil men;
they come from very far & fear
to see how dark its ink does smear.

Originally published in MagMyr, Volume 5, 1996.
© Cathrene Gehue, 1996