Consumption
In the languid, emerald sea
She dipped her cold feet
Her prayer floated up her throat
With the birds who sang for the tree.
She let the quiet color her windows
For then came the scream,
And then the sight of the scaffolds
The beads of crimson flowing through the cracks
The timber dark
Her damp feet traced patterns on the dust
Her world, a theatre of bones
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Give her soul up to the man who promised it all
And never would she trust him to let her fall
It was the burning quiet that branded her skin
For it was the slaughter of an unvowed kin
They put the spore in her body and soul
And it travelled her paths
The skin and the muscle
Every inch was a crucible
His heavy palm rested on her head
And then he laid her on the bed
“You will be well”
“You will be perfect”
He said
The crystal wove into marrow and tendons
Oily, black, and her sea
Looked much so like ruby
And then a void.
Consumption so thorough
For the spore began within her ribs
And marched forth
Until it knew her body
Better than her.
And slowly, as the world rolled films through her lens
Her soul knew less and less
Of the past she’d once sworn.
As she ventured through the city
Clad in a cloak and weapons,
She watched the sea.
She sank in it.
Drowned in it.
She sank further into the sea of coddling blood
Screaming so loudly that
She became the only one who heard it.
And in the languid, ruby sea
she no longer felt the cold.
