Poetry

June 6, 2018 Poetry , POETRY / FICTION

aebarr photo

 

By

Penn Kemp

 

 

 

Steal, Stole, Stun

 

 

The dried heads of black fox hung

from my grandmother’s stole as if

ready to strike. Dead flat button jet

eyes shut tight to their own secret

 

wiles. When she turned to talk to me

from the front seat of dad’s Meteor,

the foxes would swing in turn back

as if they too had something to say.

 

And what they whispered was darker

than words, darker that the deepest

lake they drowned in. That dark knew

how to spread and fill the entire car.

 

Their dark buried my grandmother’s kind

words in black ink. They buried her and

her stories of wild Irish banshees wailing

on roofs to warn us of imminent death.

 

 

 

 

 

Penn Kemp

Penn Kemp is an activist Canadian poet, playwright and editor.  Her latest works are Local Heroes, and the forthcoming Fox Haunts. Recent books include Barbaric Cultural Practice and two anthologies edited, Women and Multimedia and Performing Women. See www.pennkemp.weebly.com.

Editor review

0 Comments

No Comments Yet!

You can be first to comment this post!

Leave a Reply

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.