The Naked One

The Naked One
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Picture Credit: Ionas Nicolae

While my love dies I live in a recovery home two streets down, behind the holly. Mornings I hover over his sleep, blue bedclothes he will slip beyond. I weave forget-me-nots in my hair and wear paper crowns. When he disappears I am the naked one. Evenings are spent in anonymous candlelit projects, church basements; after prayers the circle opens and I’m free to look through wardrobes and bureaus of old clothes. In the dusty light I dress in velvet, fox and rabbit. A game, I’m all made-up; at the funeral, prewar lace with satin bow below my heart.

Ariel Dawn

About Ariel Dawn

Ariel Dawn’s prose poetry recently appears in GUEST ( a journal of guest editors), Train: a journal of prose poems, dusie: the tuesday poem, talking about strawberries all of the time, and Coven Editions Grimoire. She writes with Tarot cards and oracles and lives in Victoria, British Columbia.

Ariel Dawn’s prose poetry recently appears in GUEST ( a journal of guest editors), Train: a journal of prose poems, dusie: the tuesday poem, talking about strawberries all of the time, and Coven Editions Grimoire. She writes with Tarot cards and oracles and lives in Victoria, British Columbia.

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