POETRY BY MEG SMITH

Meg Smith is a writer, journalist, dancer and events producer based in Lowell, Massachusetts. In addition to appearing in The Horror Zine, her poetry and fiction have appeared in Dark Moon Digest, Muddy River Poetry Review, Sirens Call, Frost Zone Zine, Raven Cage, and many more. 

She is author of five poetry books and a short fiction collection, The Plague Confessor. She welcomes visits to megsmithwriter.com. 

THE SILENT PARK

Twilight in the plague
came soft, the breezes still. 
At the baseball diamond,
I find an empty bench
of chipped green paint,
perfect for my evening’s murmur.
Your lost child, and mine
flee from the first and only blood,
the coda of thrashing pulsars.
I commend you to them. 
Light is done. I will gather you all,
again and again, until I walk
among you, scattering dust
like laughing stars.

THE BEE MORTUARY

Pollen dust falls in a trail of gold, 
and the sun slips through wings
in a dark meditation.
Sleek arms
ferry sister after sister
from a row of husks 
to the meadow, below—clearing
away memories of gathering, gliding,
bearing the fragrance of desire in bloom.
The halls are cleared, the chambers swept—
and in soft wax, a new stirring,
drawn out by fluttering fields.

WHEN WE TALKED IN THE STORM

It was our last time. 
We laughed about snowmen,
and snow witches, and
terrible clouds descending—
anvil-heads of dark masses,
that our arms could not uphold.
Still, you ran toward them, 
and as we laughed and
said goodnight, you ascended
to their bright hunger.

CROW’S CAUCUS

Gather them where
purple clouds usher
a new and naked night. 
Here, you stand among them,
a tree adorned
in their falling black feathers,
a body rooted, drawing out
water, blood, air, flight. 
In you, they find their
claws’ consensus,
plucking sinew and synapse
in a wise feast.