“Bone-Snapper” and “Autumn” by Alix Bosley
My love, I am a vorant beast—
a gnash of clever, tiny, raucous teeth
that rip the skin and grate the soul
and snap such tenuous, little bones
as make up arms to cling and hold.
The marrow and the hollowed core—
I’m always, always wanting more.
The waning moon lights
upon the weald whose
ramiferous sinew twists,
gold-bristled, not yet bare,
but leaving bones exposed,
welcomes winter with open arms.
Alix Bosley writes poems about midnight, bones, and the anxious sinking feeling that she sometimes gets in her chest. She is in her mid-twenties and lives in southern Louisiana with her husband and their small, exuberant human.