Bury the Night
Bury the night.
Bury the stars that shorn
the skin off my forehead.
Bury my blood, willingly
given. Bury the dark
that cut stars into my ankles.
Bury these scars, and this body,
then erase the meaning
of the word bury.
Emily Bartholet is a highly caffeinated student at
Dickinson College, where she wishes she could major in everything. When she's
not studying, she can usually be found writing under a tree, or, when it rains,
curled up in a beloved coffee shop. Her poetry has appeared online and in
print, most notably in Third Point Press, Half Mystic, Inklette, and Rat's Ass
Review's Love and Ensuing Madness collection.
Tags:
Poetry