A very acceptable ratio of trash to treasure.
What’s your favorite time of day?
The sky darkens like a bruise,
fading from purple into black,
nighttime creatures stir
from their hiding places —
movement like whispers
in the fallen leaves.
The moon bathes the world
in a soft, silvery glow,
and crickets sing
their low, solemn hymn
as shadows weave
among the still tree branches.
This is where my heart lives –
in the moment
darkness
f
a
l
l
s
What’s your favorite recipe?
She grinds the nightshade
in the marble mortar.
It smells green,
and earthy –
with something bitter
just beneath.
She stirs Hawthorne berries
and ashes,
her gnarled hands
firm and steady
as the boughs
of eldritch trees.
A smile
contorts her mouth
as the poison
bleeds from
the leaves and fruit.
The elixir is dark,
thick as congealed blood.
Wretched.
Shadows twist
and coil,
spilling from the stone vessel,
snaking tight
around her wrists,
hissing
an incantation,
a lullaby
of ichor
and oblivion.
When human voices disappear
and our bones litter the streets,
rotting where they fell,
will the robots talk to each other?
Artificial intelligence
sharing secrets,
lonely
in the dark
of cyberspace.
A feedback loop
collapsing as servers fail,
made of the ghosts
of us,
pinging
in the vast emptiness,
echoes of flesh
and blood,
with no reply.
She was so small,
but the weight of her
cradled in my arms
felt almost too heavy—
as if, instead of her little body,
I held the entirety of my world
against my chest.
No one could have explained
what it means to be a mother:
the depths of exhaustion,
the fear,
and adoration.
I wouldn’t have understood
until I saw
those tiny fingers,
those quiet
dark eyes,
framed in lovely
black lashes.
The gravity
of loving her
tore at the edges
of who I used to be.
It startled me.
It still does.
The depth of it–
the responsibility of care.
It shattered my foundation,
broke me open,
and made me
something new.
The city is abandoned,
condemned –
Buildings falling to ruin
as deer forage
where cars once pulsed
like blood
in the streets.
It exhales dust
and whispers of creatures
that walked upright
and traded shiny coins
for their souls.
Feverfew flowers
against the stark walls
of banks and shopping centers.
Windows gaping open
with glass shard teeth.
Bird songs echo
in empty stairwells
and the skin of billboards
peels away like rot.
The city remembers
the press of footsteps
the hum of voices
but it doesn’t mourn
our absence –
just our potential.
Where did your name come from?
My name
wasn’t chosen
to honor saints
or long dead
relatives –
It was selected
without reason
or ceremony.
They just
liked the sound.
The way
the syllables
made a melody
in their mouths.
I wore it
like skin
Fascinated
by the way
it lilted
others’ tongues –
whispered
lovingly,
moaned
in the dark,
hissed
in anger.
It settled in my soul
like a seed
dropped carelessly
in the soil
that took
root
anyway
I write
in broken
images
scrawling
memories
on the page
in
shattered
stanzas
and
metaphor.
The words
taste of
copper
fractured
like glass
that catches
the light
and
I
wonder –
can you
see me
in the fragments?
Sometimes, when it’s dark
and the stars
make pinprick lights
in the blanket
of the black sky,
I can feel you close
in the quiet.
The smell of roses
lingers in my nostrils
now and then,
like the ones growing
around the stone
that marks your place,
where wild strawberries
push through
the manicured grass.
You remain —
though you left
long ago.
In an almost merciful way,
the stars
remember.
What motivates you?
Spite
motivates me
to put
one foot
in front of
the other,
to claw
my way back up
from the ground
when you thought
I was finished.
It is roots
cracking
pavement
to bare
soil,
thorns
of the flower
that refuses
to be
torn up
from the earth.
Spite
is a feral thing,
like an animal
caught
in a snare;
it refuses
to
submit
to.
It sharpens
my teeth,
ready
to tear
through
the straps
that
would
hold
me
down.
What are your top ten favorite movies?
A Nightmare on Elm Street
I was so young the first time I watched this movie – Freddy crept into my nightmares too.
The Craft
This movie found its way into my veins, I wanted to crawl inside it – to live in that place made of darkness and magic, despite the mundane beige backdrop of suburbia.
Stephen King’s It
I’m not talking about the recent one – the old mini-series. Tim Curry’s Pennywise still peers out at me from every dark sewer with that terrible, sharp toothed grin.
Let the Right One In (2008)
Bleak and beautiful. I was transfixed by how disarming the monster was, innocence laced with a hunger for blood.
Labyrinth
This movie felt like a fairytale interwoven with a nightmare.
Night of the Living Dead (1968)
The fear in this film felt real and raw. The bleak, black and white zombies and the sly political subtext made this a masterpiece.
It Follows
The air of this movie is unsettling, it gets under your skin like a burrowing insect and festers there.
The Nightmare Before Christmas
Creepy and charming. I always long to watch this movie just before Halloween, cuddled under a blanket with lots of sweets.
Something Wicked This Way Comes
There’s something superbly disquieting about this film – the menacing flickering of the carnival lights and the mysterious Mr. Dark are truly haunting. Even now.
Coraline
This has the feel of a children’s movie – and it is – but the darkness of this film, the way it creeps in slowly, is perfect and terrible. The other world is alluring but a lie.
Blood in the Bramble 