“At the witching market” & “Bride-Body, Momento Mori” by E.B. Schnepp

“At the witching market” & “Bride-Body, Momento Mori” by E.B. Schnepp

At the witching market

I found stalls,				fetuses dried for luck. 
the stillborn 				fruit of another 
animal’s womb; 			        tucking one small 
hypothetical-beast  			in cupped palms 
I felt anything 			but holy.

 

 

Bride-Body, Momento Mori

The first thing he’ll take is your name,
followed by your fingerprints, dental records,
the things that distinguish one body
from the next. You are bared for him;
a bride—your bridesmaids wear black,

they mourn you already. Your groom,
more bird than man, a vulture,
his walls are lined with women,
none of them whole; partially eaten,
partially decayed.

He will eat his way out of your womb,
slick-viscous, he’ll walk the world bloody.
In the bridal suite, his hands at your throat,
you could mistake it for love—
your reality, asphyxiation.


 

 

E.B. Schnepp is a poet hailing from rural Mid-Michigan who currently finds herself stranded in the flatlands of Ohio. Her work can also be found in Glass, Maudlin House, and Hypertrophic Lit, among others.

Category : Issue Seven December 2017 Tags :

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