My plants wind tight
binding wrist and ankle 
around a spindle 
dropped 
unlike a truth
robbed and twisted, a garment 
handed back to me, more costly 
than a half-developed will 
& not so easily overcome.

How beautiful it is to break
on these branches. 

How much do I love death
with her charcoal lids 
& ash-lined lips? I carry her scent
like a bloom.

Cut down my brambles, let the deflowering
begin, let me rise from the husk 
of my decomposition—

my leaves despise the earth from which they sprang,
there is too much sugar in the sky. 

Ingrid L. Taylor

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Ingrid L. Taylor is a poet, science writer, and veterinarian who is most likely to be found talking to the dog at a party. Her poetry has most recently appeared or is forthcoming in the Southwest Review, the Ocotillo Review, FERAL: A Journal of Poetry and Art, Horse Egg Literary, and others. Her poem “Mermaids” received Punt Volat Journal’s Annual Poetry Award in 2021. Her nonfiction work has appeared in Sentient Media. She’s received support for her writing from the Playa Artist Residency, the Horror Writers Association, and Gemini Ink, and she holds an MFA in fiction and nonfiction from Pacific University. Find her online at ingridltaylor.com. 

Artwork: Brooke Shaden
Website: https://brookeshaden.com/gallery/

 

 

31 Oct This entry was published on October 31, 2021 at 12:03 am and is filed under 48 (October 2021), Current Issue, Poetry, Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.