Issue 13

Autumn 2014



The terror inside beauty:
violence of arteries, lapis of veins,

bees swarming the lavender,
a curled snake skin striped by lattice

on emerald shards of an ancient bottle
under the porch where the cat stashed rats,

where the old collie lay down to die,
where someone will find the clean skull

of the stolen child, not one red curl.

Don’t think I am inventing anything.
We are born to keep watch.

Have you seen those early morning cobwebs
spread over flat bushes,

those white nets holding sequins of dew?
My granny told me, the fairies

are doing their laundry, and the beautiful
dark heart of me believed.


Penelope Scambly Schott