Harangue
He is a hard sell
A man who knows what he doesn’t want
Ranting on and on
Appealing to his senses is useless
Neither hot nor cold
Gone is his sanity
Under his hat
Enters the green dragon
Rattle
She was one piece
Hanging together like
The skeleton in the closet.
Each bone attached with hooks
Rattling at the least breeze
When the door opens.
Words clatter around in her skull
The marrow eaten away
Flesh is a remembrance.
Each line put together
With bits of bone.
by Cynthia Eddy
Cynthia Eddy lives and writes on the eastern shore of Virginia. The quiet village sustains her sense of neighborhood and belonging. She holds a BA in Art History. She has been published in Third Wednesday, Eunoia Review, Epiphany Magazine, Zombie Poetry, Deep South Magazine, Forge Journal, the Black Lantern Press and in Emerge Literary Journal. Poetry creates a chord between reader and poet. That chord remains long after the reading. Every poem reaches into the reader and brings forth an understanding, a moment of ‘I’ve been there’.
