What makes a woman a howling banshee?The one you hear through your bedroom’s locked window at midnight,the tall woman,her body wasted by grief,gray cloak hanging limply on her slumped shoulders,her green dress, once a rich velvet,now covered in wispy silver cobwebs,her dark eyes sunken and red with tears,her pale skin a…

A room sunken now and hollowed out,my bare feet rest on the cool grey clayof your plastered house, as bronzedbodies move in a dance of trowelsin the spaces where you once lived.  I am trying to decipher the peeling blood red fragments of your art, hunting for bull and deer, leg and…

Tell me of your life as I brush the dustfrom your eye sockets, carefully cataloguing your curving limbs. The way your body held itself, even in death. The way your bones dancein the earth, mud-stained,the expression of all your experiences. All you have loved and felt,all you have been, now fallen away. Sing to me softlythe last shreds of your…

At sea, adrift between worlds,one of terrorone of hope, we travel, nine hundred of us,borderless, in transit,from beating, burning, and a thousand indignities. But here, the mustached man’s portrait is flipped over;we try to forget what is and what might be,we try not to think about those left behind. With…

I tremble —there is evil about,specters and demons,but I must remain resolute,stand with the other magistrates and judges,all men of property and esteem,surely, we must be among the elect. This affliction has spread through the region,so many blackened with devils’ marks–though their blood is red(their master teaches them tricks). Accused,…