The Naked One

The Naked One

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 lives in Victoria, British Columbia. She spends her time writing, reading, studying Tarot, and working on her first collection of prose poems. Recent work appears in Foxhole, Room,, Guest, and Train.

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