BROWSE Columns
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Softness serves no master
This labor began in love-
scars carved into earth flesh and
stone, its carcass laid down,
an offering
discarded under boot heels and
laughter;
we have seen this before
The ruined cities of our empire beckon
your hair the flaming and bloodied banner
held aloft-
staff of thigh bone, sinew, eyes of flashing liquid
gold,
perfect and defeated
I banished my softness for this
armour of raven wing, broken-off
eyeteeth and rib bones, obsidian
flake, volcanic fury and
venom-
the molten heart still shudders beneath
Samantha has been in love with poetry since she stole her mother's old college textbook of English poetry from the bookshelf at age 10. Poetry speaks to her of the archaeology of the psyche, the strata of loneliness and desire inside all of us, and the equally strong ache to be fully seen.
