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




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’.

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