[dreams in the witches house] this is no redemption. bark of the angostura fizzy in british ironstone -- anaemic girls' babies robbed by the bubbles. fire melts with hunger we can't tell from thirst. mother bitters, birch legs lashed from the cold & peeling into soup, into broth, into bubbles bitter & boiled with babies cursing you to drink. it is no thing, not a problem. my missing teeth pick the skin & shrink; me reversed & mother out & cold, anger in the angostura & etymologies of our family burnt like iron for their ore. babies bawling crawl on out, cut with scissors when they need to breathe through fluids too gross, too vast, for choirs to pierce or bite. this is no revelation, nor reveal. this is me & small hands marked in mouthy wounds scooping up remnant parts of kids to kiss. my lips are bitter, my touch is feint & babies cry boldly while angels pick their skin. witches circle the yard and press face hard on glass lamenting. we will not let them in.
Summerisle Wilson lives in the East Midlands of England & has appeared in various online journals including Pink Plastic House, Detritus Online, VampCat & Occulum. A full list of their work can be found at jenniferwilsonlit.wordpress.com and they are sometimes on twitter @Summerisle_W