Standing Watch
by Katherine Nelson-Born
Pulling night’s inky shawl across her shoulders,
Verna L’Equinox kneels, bows her head.
Her black hair spills over the blood-
stained block beneath her chin. With one
hand I caress her tresses, give thanks for
her sacrifice. The other grasps the oaken
stave holding me upright in the hot night.
An orange mushroom blooms in the distance,
its blistering breath melding robes to skin,
molting skin to flakes of ash set adrift. As
false light strakes the Stygian night, lays bare
the bones in my hand, the stave turns
matchstick. Its red lick laps up my arm, leaps
into the stratosphere.
Raven wings careen above, pull
down a velvet curtain cloaking
Nephilim laughter. Like children
playing with matches, they set fire to
the veil between us.
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