This is me participating in the Sixth Annual Brigid Poetry Festival

Medusa in Winter

sisters press me with your
shoulders, I grow cold this
night, this dark day

rest with me, night
cannot end if
thigh does not press
thigh and breasts
nest in no hollow

our hair twists
into sleep, my face
twists against the night
and my wings ache

sisters, mirrors
should I die ( Read more... )