coughing on the soot of morning’s breath

stumbling through the mud, my child claimed by death

absent souls mock through their rotting eyes

past all torment that my arid heart decries


comets raking through resisting air

boiling water that reflected their hot glare

twisters, tidal waves, and panicked shrieks

fog and feces and ripping, gore-caked beaks


spitting out the ash of noon’s hushed hiss

i clutch him close and his cold forehead lean to kiss

fires fade just as the black sky snows

i wait as wistful as the ever-present crows


a moment, tossed in waves of pitch and sand

a moment. balance lost, unable just to stand

a second on the ground, eyes barely closed

one instant claims all during uneasy brief repose


wheeling madly as i search the skies

panting, screaming, and tearing at my eyes

calming, quiet. now a corpse that stands

nothing left. weighed down by heartless empty hands


choking on the filth of evening’s sigh

i walk alone and slowly wring my memories dry

no more wailing as none but i still can

i find the place where i’ll relinquish all i am


twisting gently into empty space

maimed eyes closing finding something close to grace

singing softly solemn lullabies

calmly cooing as my child cries



Eliza Folly attends college at the University of North Carolina in Asheville. She is a lesbian and second youngest sibling of nine raised in a Catholic family. She loves animals and writes frequently.