By Jennifer Crow
You know the price
before it’s spoken: A life
in all its awkward glory,
skinned knees and broken
promises, the chalky taste
of dust rolling up
from a dirt road or an open grave.
Bury it deep, all the guilt
and regret tinged copper
and scarlet. Time passes
in swoops, blue bottle flies
buzzing, unable to stay
or leave. You scoop
a shovelful of earth
over gaping mouths
and the silence weighs
so much you kneel
at the side of the hole
and whisper each name
until your mind lets go.
Someone is waiting for you
in a place you don’t remember
but you will get there
when you get there.
Rushing has no purpose now.
* * *
Shy and nocturnal, Jennifer Crow has rarely been photographed in the wild. It’s rumored that she lives near a waterfall in western New York, on the traditional lands of the Haudenosauneega. You can find her poetry on several websites and in various print magazines including Asimov’s Science Fiction, Uncanny Magazine, Liminality and Kaleidotrope. She’s always happy to connect with readers on her Facebook author page or on twitter @writerjencrow.
Where do you get the ideas for your poems?
The great thing about ideas is that they show up everywhere: in funny things my kids have said, in the stream that runs past my house, in the clouds that drift overhead. Online, we have access to artwork from all around the world and many points in history, as well as mythological tales, and I draw a lot of my inspiration from those. Being part of a community of speculative poets means there are always ideas floating around, and I’m fortunate to know lots of interesting people with deep knowledge to share.
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