la muse malade
adapted from Les Fleurs du Mal by Charles Baudelaire
my muse awakes each morning
dark circles from dreams, planet-level events
she is me in the mirror, reversed and hoarding
these visions, bones roasted for their marrow, essence
the soil put spores in my lungs, asbestos thread
inhaled and strung from cell to cell like lace
“never hunt for mushrooms,” mother always said,
“health and hell often trade between them the same face.”
I have been praying for a key, a closet
to lock the mirror away, all her unintended prophecy
to decipher the coils of this earth,
unlock a place cool as the whispering surf
where the tide is always out
and this body is my familiar, devout.
Monica Deck is an archer, author, and MFA candidate. She occasionally moonlights as a project manager and happily covers the rent and cost of living for her four cats. She is currently compiling poems for a full-length adaptation of Charles Baudelaire’s unmatched collection, Les Fleurs du Mal.
