“she brings curses” will be featured in “entombed in verse: an epitaph for salem.”

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

r.i.p.

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.

fortune teller

click, clamber & it backfires

swerves, my solstice milkmaid sails

on a dreamy seafoam bed of nails

lathers in the hungry chorus

of a hundred haunted fingers

lets them pluck a symphony of her bones

you are spring now; you are ruby

salve. dead petals on charred bread

the witch’s secret

you are not the ghost of winter laying bare

& inky dark inside the ashes of a house of cards

but the silver lining stepping

out of the graveyard & onto their toes


words = samantha lucero 2016 ©
image = laura makabresku.

ritual

we were but girl-children

to the deathless moon

in this heavy-lidded woodland

eyes like soapy lanterns

twitching in the cradle-dust

still, we voyaged in

joined like dollhouse mountains

my bloodstone-sister was an untamed altar

at which they encroached, wept like ivy

unhinged men & their fresh shoulders

who would pile at her godforsaken toes

to revere, to wide-eyed pray, to boast

a ritual for veneration

that would never starve

still, she dared in

i was but a prying mortal girl & out-of-body

fingering sorries inside a waning pouch

i scooped from meat-faced vultures

dripping the diamond scent of

a grey folklore

which i bittersweetly appointed

on my melancholy own

still, i delved in

i don’t believe we ever emigrated

from the royal purple cold, unpolished wild

or the leather harness of the unclothed bark

of yolky-sun, of pine-fragrant wrangles of trees

here silver-winter comes & time to

urge patient gods to bare one more

love-seat, for me & death


words = samantha lucero 2016 ©
image = not mine.