The Turning, Daniel J. Flosi
She sees him as clinging hands, groping
to be held. His eyes are frost
weeping melodies of past lovers' maladies.
Their river churns the bodies of stones.
She knew his hands
to be ripe plum flesh, once, but the valley
keeps merging at the river line.
And when he wraps his hands around her neck—
maggots from soft plum flesh;
a death stink turns the air. The turning
of children happens slowly, quiet,
like the forming of mountains.
Daniel J. Flosi sometimes thinks they are an apparition living in a half-acre coffin within the V of the Mississippi and Rock Rivers. Their work has appeared or is forthcoming in Prometheus Dreaming, eris & eros, The Closed Eye Open, The Good Life Review, Zero Readers, and Wild Roof Journal. Drop a line @muckermaffic.