This Now The dog snores.The coffee colds.The heat whirs. Pope JoanHestiaSappho and Marguerite Porete await my attention.The journal pulses. Death is open-mouthedswallowing anotherbody into its belly depth, darkness:the hold before a new birthing untangles into thelight. Grief is agrotto we slink into – weep, laughsigh, sleep. Ourflushed cheeks press againstseashell walls.
Tag: grotto
I Won!
Okay, so this is a blog post swaddled in manifestation. I just submitted a chapbook of poetry to the Rattle Chapbook Prize. *The deadline is tonight at midnight! Rattle is my favourite literary magazine. I've submitted to different contests and calls over the years, but this year I finally got my shi* together enough to… Continue reading I Won!
VANESSA SHIELDS 