September 8, 2014 | Occasus | Issue 4 | Poetry
Blood Wings
Brother
gropes
with flayed, dirt-creased hands a low barbed wire fence, rusted from rainfalls at dawn, and muck deep in the long grass He looks back, twisting his waxen neck Two sharp shoulder blades point to the darkening sky Brother climbs Mother in the pallid kitchen arranges the neck of a broken chicken, caresses sticky mottled flesh Mother calls for dinner, glances out the smudge stained window Brother in the smoky sunlight, a shifting silhouette shimmering beyond the fence. |
Station Dreams
my
feet scrape
on grey oil chipping concrete, a milky light waxes my face. beyond the black edge it’s all needle rain sticking in the dirt the lady in her prim skirt swings to cubicles, a vein colored sink the man on the floor ticks his body like a clock, spotted teeth, stained trousers fleshing out his junk his meat. I am the future, he smiles—thick, Italian you freak, you freak locked doors, queer lights, twenty trains rush by behind fast as bullets in the night. |
ERICA MCKEEN is a first year student at Western. This is her first publication.