One Poem by Fabrice Poussin

Ghost

It was the season for loving
winter yet aiming its huge arrows
at the heart of those in warm mittens.

Icy powder on the steps to the altar
one may slip on her way to intimate vows
entangled in the white fabric of her innocence.

Holding vigil, a corpse in his dark shroud
awaits, vulture on an abandoned carcass
his fortune to be made on the pain of the pillars.

Soon the gates will gape their arrogant throat
ready to regurgitate the dreams of an instant
onto the smoking pavement of a melting earth.

The ghost will not hesitate to pounce
for he knows the glee is about to uncover a cruel light
he too must make survive even if hearts must die.

 

Fabrice Poussin teaches French and English at Shorter University. Author of novels and poetry, his work has appeared in Kestrel, Symposium, The Chimes, and many other magazines. His photography has been published in The Front Porch Review, the San Pedro River Review as well as other publications.

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