Spelunker
By Holly Day
QuailBellMagazine.com
QuailBellMagazine.com
quiet church lies beneath
the marching
feet of men, a candle mass
that lead the blind fish on. I don’t know
how long I’ve sat here, listening to
the drip of water, I’m
turning to stone, inside out.
winged choirs of bats flutter up
above, their nail-head eyes waiting for me
to fall asleep. so
I stay awake. I sit here, trying to see
their furry bodies, thick smears of blood
against the night.
the marching
feet of men, a candle mass
that lead the blind fish on. I don’t know
how long I’ve sat here, listening to
the drip of water, I’m
turning to stone, inside out.
winged choirs of bats flutter up
above, their nail-head eyes waiting for me
to fall asleep. so
I stay awake. I sit here, trying to see
their furry bodies, thick smears of blood
against the night.
Holly Day was born in Hereford, Texas, also known as “The Town Without a Toothache.” She and her family currently live in Minneapolis, Minnesota, where she teaches at the Loft Literary Center. Her published books include Music Theory for Dummies, Music Composition for Dummies, and Guitar All-in-One for Dummies.
#Poem #Poetry #CreativeWriting #Spelunker
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