Confessional Poetry, Memoir Poem, Poetry

Wet House in the Hungry Forest Where Girls and Boys Go to Die

There’s crying in the wallpaper that drips
July swelter. Little girls and little boys and
bigger girls and bigger boys go
here to die. I can feel them
everywhere. Their spirits
got loose but
they are as lost as I am in
this dripping house in
this heavy, hungry forest where no one would find
us, and
certainly no one would hear us and
they see this horror go down and
down and down and they want to take their
big eyes off if but they’re scared of the forest and
the wet in the forest and
all those millions of insects
ready to eat them alive and
pick their bones. I wish I could
tell them they don’t have meat and bones to
pick anymore and they can just go and
float up through the suffocating green and
god wants them
but I don’t know that.

-M. Ashley

Confessional Poetry, Poetry

An Empty House

Windows with closed mouths
Wallpaper scrubbed clean
An antique porcelain tub
Where no one drowned
An unfinished basement
Where no one clawed and cried
No horrors under the floorboards
No broken furniture to remember
No shadows in the closets
No starvation in the dining room
Unused door locks
Original doors
Gently closed

-M.

Memoir Poem, Poetry

Silent as Dogwood Snow

Dogwood snow in blue
Efficiency light, midnight
Red earth, grass, shadows
Receive the floral frost

I lie in blue efficiency
Light, midnight
In green satin pajamas on
Green, Spring grass

Shade trees hide the
Moonlight. Starlight too
Does not touch Earth
Here. Only my bare feet

My bare fingers, my
White light hair tangled
In green, Spring grass
And falling dogwood snow.

My bare feet bleed
This night, like so many nights
Having fled and found jagged
Gray rocks hidden in the grass

I have fallen here
My flight this night will be
Unsuccessful. He will find me
Anyway though I am green

In the green grass
White in the blue light
Red blood on red earth
Silent as dogwood snow.

-M.