Your bloody daughter – Candice Louisa Daquin

What would you tell her

The you of twenty years ago

Your bloody daughter

Wiped on doctor’s sleeve

What would you say?

Lying there with your legs open and mind shut

Would you tell her about all the false starts?

Or pick a cliché, like time goes so fast

Would you sit by the river eating damp sandwiches

And say only one thing

Don’t forget

Oh please, do not …

Because it runs out

And the music stops

You realize you didn’t find

In squirming crowd and nubile bundle of years

That self-assured hand of worship

Divination and objection

Pulling you out of horror

A soaking crimson thing

Searching for tapestry within wider weave

Throwing runes in fire pits

Eating the marrow of after birth

To discoverment

What would you tell her to look for ?

Learn the meaning before running

Barelegged catching scratches, leaving blood

Weeds pressed at their fragile necks by the thunder of your sprint

Straightening afterward, leaving no trace

Swaying all, in direction of beckoning wind

Tumbling off high rocks

Their granite faces scowling

Disapprobation carved into their carbon

As surely as your little chest heaves with the labor

Of surviving

Hours- Samantha Lucero

Hours clem-onojeghuo-192729

I see those mottled photos, ornate albums

of yesterdays yellow sun

Of swollen women, dream-like, in a lavender field.

They leash their arms around an oval-shape

becoming empty; the shape deflates, the air comes out like water.

It starts to breathe it’s own small breath in the shape of a person,

someday a man, a woman, sometimes swollen, sometimes

stiff, stark, or bleeding.

Seeing those photos one day,

your nose has memorized leather and tobacco flower.

for her, it’s dr.pepper, Disney on ice

the cotty musk she never knew she had just inside the pi of bone.

samantha lucero 2017 ©


Samantha Lucero likes… uhhh… cats, and can never think of what to say about herself, she writes at Samantha Lucero, sometimes and is a managing editor at the Sudden Denouement Literary Collective.

The Beginning- Aurora Phoenix

IMG_20170402_181041614
Art and poem by Aurora Phoenix
It felt like miscarriage.
There was the requisite agony and attendant
gore – absent the maternal oxytocin glow. This being
erupted from her unbidden, extruding through
dry constricted orifices.
It wracked her – a clamped
down silent caterwauling black hole
wrenching her skinside in and curdling
the yolk of the skies.
This thing was a raw bloody
mangled mess, confounding hope of life.
Expecting putrefaction
it squirmed and whimpered
inexplicably birthed in desolate
Siberian confinement.

At the end of all that was known
she bore a poetess self

Aurora Phoenix is a writer who is in the process of authoring a new life following a shocking incarceration. She was previously a clinical psychologist and suburban mom. Writing found her in captivity and has been an inescapable conduit to process her experience and reclaim her voice.

The Beginning-Introducing Aurora Pheonix

IMG_20170402_181041614
[Art and poem by Aurora Pheonix]
It felt like miscarriage.
There was the requisite agony and attendant
gore – absent the maternal oxytocin glow. This being
erupted from her unbidden, extruding through
dry constricted orifices.
It wracked her – a clamped
down silent caterwauling black hole
wrenching her skinside in and curdling
the yolk of the skies.
This thing was a raw bloody
mangled mess, confounding hope of life.
Expecting putrefaction
it squirmed and whimpered
inexplicably birthed in desolate
Siberian confinement.

At the end of all that was known
she bore a poetess self

[Aurora Pheonix is a fledgling writer who is in the process of authoring a new life following a shocking incarceration. She was previously a clinical psychologist and suburban mom. Writing found her in captivity and has been an inescapable conduit to process her experience and reclaim her voice.]