some people are only religious when they see Mary
on the corner with a heart-wet mouth. h a i l Mary,
full of avian bones and candy wrappers they pick up
that you never see get thrown
won’t you be mine?
perhaps. she makes them think of their mother
smart and streetwise
with all those invisible skirts and ankles
or perhaps the cradle where it all went
down hill; it’s all downhill from there
from birth to showers of sparks
to final scenes fading to black
the camera now pans to an inky bedroom
where you’d cry out and somebody
would always come (or cry too?)
or maybe you used to pray there
like a wound by a candle
no one ever listened to you
— why would ‘they’? —
no one is there.
and that’s okay.
i’m comfortable with that
like sharks are in waves
i’m the steak knife on the kitchen table
by your mothers hand
when she’s crying in a mink coat full of smoke
i’m the girl in the dark; leave me alone.
i want to be here.
words =samantha lucero 2017 ©.
photo = alexa chung.
some months ago, i wrote a poem for an anthology chiefly interested in salem history (no, not this one!) and it was accepted for publication. it’ll be featured in the upcoming book named above. you can find more details about it [HERE]. that will apparate you to a pre-order page, but you can read the gist of the atmosphere of the book. and yes, i did just use a harry potter term.
i am so fucking delighted about being in that book. i love salem. since one of my best bitches lives not far from there, i’ve gone plenty of times. salem also has the best indian restaurant EVER IN THE GALAXY (besides the one in california i used to frequent in my past life.) it’s called passage to india, and if you’re ever in town, go.
i’ve also always been fascinated with the history of the place, which should come as no surprise considering i adore most all things macabre, relating to behavioral psychology or criminal as a bonus, mysterious and wretched in history.
the title was inspired by the username of a past writing partner of mine who i loved working with, who is one of the best writers i’ve ever met. she used to write as a witch and i as a magician in our stories. she knows who she is. although, she may never read this.
here’s a small excerpt:
She is the ratty crone who dwells in tears
intruding up the mildew walls of sick-dreams,
like howling veins bulging for a snake-bite
shuddering to the open grin of a white moon
so my life has been insane. how fitting, since i am too. or at least that’s what they say.
has been? is. currently and always. in some ways and in many.
i have an urge to pour out an intensely personal blog post, but i’m too exhausted or afraid. i live far too much in my own mind, and although typing makes it easier to get it all out, lately it’s hard for me to talk about anything.
but hey, remember how i’ve mentioned that i was working on another short horror story for an indie anthology? finished and submitted. we’ll see what happens.
speaking of anthologies, i’m going to be receiving my physical copy of “the mountain pass”, the other indie anthology i wrote ‘across lots’ for sometime soon. it’s available, along with the sample, on the publishers website and on amazon kindle. my story is actually the first one in the book, so you can read most of it in the sample on their website, but if you want to read the entire thing (my story, not the whole book), go to the sample on amazon. 😉 there’s a little bit of the second story in there as well from another writer. i can’t wait to read all the other stories in it.
i’ll be working on my own novel, which i will painstakingly attempt to publish at a bigger house, and self-publishing my poetry book onward. any poem i write for the book will be put on my blog or at sudden denouement anyway. the book isn’t intended to be all original work.
maybe i’ll put together a few other stories for indie places if i have time.
i still need to smash the remaining entries of the horseman into one post… soon.
without further ado, here’s an excerpt of what i’ve sent to an anthology call asking for stories taking place on halloween, in the same city (salem) in different decades. i chose 1973. a few years after the manson murders.
let’s kill her
Continue reading “a virgo unsurprisingly complaining, a link to ‘across lots’ & an excerpt from “let’s kill her.””
of a grin usually on the missing
persons board at truck stops
where famished men would pick up hitch-hiking
girl-children run aways, escaping home
to find themselves, smelling like
violins in the attic
here she is in red-hot-red,
rose-red, blood-red, a portrait streak of
glitter high-heels with no hosiery
ankles with tattoos of talaria wings
and a wink at an invisible camera
she’s such a gem, such a picture
on the side of the road on her back
holding out her upturned palms to catch the diving
heavy rain, collecting it inside of the sinkhole
of her open mouth,
crooked THERE, like a tangled doll.
do you see that glorious photograph
of her alive, when she felt so dead
and here she is getting the flashing
lights she craved, licking the gravel
on sunset boulevard, dead as the moon
only bright because the camera catches
the last expression that her face made before
she fell into that uncanny embrace
of unknowable death, where the eyes, wide like wax
stare out into another, unseen place
blind to where everyone else remains now
because she’s escaped and found herself
who killed—— ?
the best psychics in venice beach
say his name was ——.
words = samantha lucero 2017 ©
image = tumblr, as usual.
it’s my desire that the membrane of
featureless dark slumbering between you
and a living, breathing world will
never scare you, not from letting go
i want you to be as untroubled as a feline shadow
stretching back like the vivid light in your young eyes
for you to know that nothing creeps
not in the crawling wisps of bedtime silence,
nor the neutered intentions
left inside the house spiders poisoned heart;
nothing waits there in the resting dark
nothing but folded up dust so neatly cached in
quiet relics long, small memories flung upon
the raw grass of ageless play
where moon meets sun, and sun meets moon
in endless day
think of the mythic wild,
aching for a secret of your river words
tree limbs undressed in winter
waiting for the untamed howl
of the green man’s oily summer yawn
the salt of the sea widowed on your cupid’s bow
a chorus of humming live creatures in the stars
and serenading you with indiscernible hymns
only a child can know and hear;
show me how to listen again.
look not in the cold dark where you cannot see
and think of lonely things which might hang
in the hard corners of your nearing sleep.
shut your eyes. let life rest.
think of the day and how in the dark
there is nothing that was not in the light.
and if there is
let it be afraid of y o u.
words = samantha lucero 2017 ©
image = wish i knew.
here lies you, silent as the dust you’ve built
my favored disgrace, my bookmarked witch.
i hang YOU every morning in the mirror. i curl you back from your pacific grave by the rope i buried you in just to hear you scream again.
it’s your tired eyes that shimmer patiently in the placental dark that makes me hold my breath, makes me ooze ‘why?’
some silky word you cup over my mouth like a burglar’s glove;
“sometimes i glint like a knife under the moon.”
sometimes i want to die.
here lies me, the view from the prison behind my eyes. they have to saw a hole there someday. maybe that’s when i’ll go away.
there was the picture of dorian gray that he would hide from everyone. the monster gnawed by its own teeth, the truth.
i am the picture & somewhere is my better half.
words = samantha lucero 2017 ©
image = not mine. from tumblr.