Dis placeholder

by Claretta Holsey

Down this moon-forgotten
Corridor, the body

Of her hem is prey
To her hips' sashay.

Every fiber of this midnight
Folds her deep in three-toned

Father, mother, holy

Spirit echoes––
Who? Who?

Chalky, rounded, incomplete,
There is answer in the street––

Blood-lines sewn from scratches
Onyx-blackened, she is

Sign of absence
Swung then swayed, rocking


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