Purse of Souls

Fox Kerry
Fox Kerry
Jul 28, 2017 · 1 min read

She didn’t know what she didn’t know.

where he went, why he came back — a little more different each time.

If hackles were things, they were on him, his back, each time he returned.

If deadness in the heart was also a thing, well, she had that condition, for her part.

you love a person, you purchase their weight.

you relax with their spirit, you partake of their plate.

of course there were warnings about said things . . .

opening doors, crossing thresholds, defiant and prematurely.

How horrible, but excellent, this racing of veins inside her.

who could tuck these feelings, back in their protective womb?

Who would fold the blanket where all of their love, it had sprinkled?

She needed an answer, like one full ocean bath.

But these were the days when you marched the hall of souls . . .

so very, very

alone.

— for this was the toll booth she’d veered for.

Poets Unlimited

Six Years of poetry-only publishing, PoetsUnlimited was a diverse, engaging and authentic poetry magazine. For most of that time a daily publication, it was always diverse and original, and free-to-read by all.

Fox Kerry

Written by

Fox Kerry

If you paint for me even one thing which is true, perhaps I’ll be tempted to consider two. I tell tales poetically, someone else needs to set them to music.

Poets Unlimited

Six Years of poetry-only publishing, PoetsUnlimited was a diverse, engaging and authentic poetry magazine. For most of that time a daily publication, it was always diverse and original, and free-to-read by all.

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