POETRY BY MEG SMITH

Meg Smith is a writer, journalist, dancer and events producer living in Lowell, Massachusetts. In addition to previously appearing in The Horror Zine, her work has appeared recently in Dark Moon Digest, Muddy River Poetry Review, The Cafe Review, Aphelion, Blood Moon Rising Magazine, and many more. She is author of five poetry books and a short fiction collection, The Plague Confessor. She welcomes visits to megsmithwriter.com. 

ALL FOR NIGHT

You and I, let's run
to the blue-green filament
between trees and sky.
Such dark, fine things, we are,
something more than air
and spider-threads.
All around, the houses,
the tenements fill
with sleep. Dreams escape
like vapors from kettles.
We map their fire, their fears.
We take their forms, and
die, but never fail.

BUTTERFLY VEIL

Sing me a new sky,
in the silence of nectar,
and flowers, uplifted.
I'm told you never die,
but only fall away, wings
of powder, the sun's dust,
and silence, your only
true hymn. So, let me hold you all,
on this golden hill. I will open
myself, and become stem, petal, grass,
covered, in your colors,
splintered, and true, in glory.

YOUR EYES, IN SILVER

You gave all to us, your people,
holding hands in a flower-chain,
from island, to mountain,
aluminum trailers, or
a volcano, nodding.
We marvel at your blue resonance.
Where sight has gone,
we will give you glitter, drawn in
luminous coins. We will
embrace you in
a sarcophagus of quilts,
and flashing, colored lights
we used to string on the front steps.
Shine, is all we ask.
We have never slept in darkness.

THE BODY CRYSTALS

Jewels will bloom, drawing atoms of
preciousness from stone, earth,
bones and wax.  Legacies form ornaments,
green, purple, black, rising in the gleam.
My beloved lies gorgeously, a city,
shimmering with commuters,
all moving, spilling, flowing,
in their willful hungers,
among the greatness of lights.