Maybe Some Other Day
I can exit this merry-go-round by leaping off the carousel horse. I can jump from the float and leave the parade. I can pull out the nails and climb down from the prow. But not today. The mechanical horse needs the rider to spur it. The drab little float needs the prom queen to adorn it. The wind-blown schooner needs the figurehead to guide it. Perhaps tomorrow.
Marked Woman
The moon is full.
Her heart is empty.
The night is long.
Her patience thin.
Where is that UPS package?
Sacrifices
Sacrifices occur at altars. My being dissolves as the dark blood pools across the rough stone. It drips over the edge and the crimson rivulet spills onto the ground, where it is swallowed by the thirsty earth. Under the veil, I vanish.