He made his palm a slab I laid on,
his mouth a tomb. Just shy
of fourteen and wed in a plume
of moss and old meat. Call us hasty,
ill-advised; though the adults bent
to our will, it was the children
who kept dying. Death spread like water
to every hidden room: the chapel’s
damp basement, the bed soaking
with clothes. We’d barely begun
our vows when it poured opened my blouse
and raised his sword. Forgive us,
Father and Mother. We ended
like most couples do: one at a time
lying beside each other.
Issue 06
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Bonnie
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http://loganmsachon.tumblr.com Logan Sachon
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X Gregg
The Author
Amy Meckler
Amy Meckler received her MFA in creative writing from Hunter College, where she garnered the Academy of American Poets Award, among other honors. Her poems have appeared widely in literary journals and anthologies. Her first collection, What All the Sleeping Is For, won the 2002 Defined Providence Press Poetry Book Award and was published that year. She works in New York City as a Sign Language interpreter. Amy also blogs at You Have Spinach In Your Teeth. She is also the Poetry Editor for Revolving Floor. See all of Amy's Revolving Floor contributions.
