The December Editor's Pick Poet is Meg Smith

Please feel free to email Meg at: megsmithwriter675@gmail.com

WORMS OF KNOWING

Purple in spring, they roll,
writings in a flash of rain.
End to end, they salute the soil,
and make everything one.
Plowing up the breath, the hand,
pebbles in a crumbling wall,
they grow, and never fail.

GIBBET HILL

In the warm haze
of June,
you and your father
are walking,
climbing, to the tower,
to the view.
Green, and green,
and blue,
all space for talking,
photos, kindred.
Oh but I know—
this crossroads,
to a place
I once found a blanket
among shadows.
Oh, but you cannot know,
the cuts, the scars,
in crossing.

RUNE BABY

Scratch out a thousand drafts,
of roaring, crying, stuttering of beasts.
A pall, blanketed in my lap,
what can you tell me?
How can I feed you, but from air,
rock, soil, truth?
I can only form you from inside.
I can only release you, once,
into a pool reflecting the cold light of stars.

BLIND HARVEST

Starting over is the first eruption.
Sight is a cost for the future.
For this cosmopolis, storms are in birth—
for they do not know,
in the pool that will come to call itself, alive.
It goes simply—
daughter to daughter, splitting,
breaking, dying—
giving over, until each
spills out its star within.

Meg Smith is a writer, journalist, dancer and events producer living in Lowell, Massachusetts. In addition to previously appearing in The Horror Zine, her work has appeared in The Cafe Review, Dark Dossier, Sirens Call, Strange Horizons, Bewildering Stories, and many more. 

She is the author of five poetry books. Her first short fiction collection, The Plague Confessor, is being released from Emu Books.

She welcomes visits to:
megsmithwriter.com