Under a Corona of Darkness
dawn births morning in blood and piss.
The moon, an afterbirth, sets in a slow, steady slide.
Below, the ocean writhes and spreads its rippling voices.
This is a day of death.
Nothing welcomes the sun as its head peaks
over the cervix of the horizon.
Even the gulls are quiet.
Sand drifts in dawn’s heavy breath.
The dunes wait.
Empty houses facing the ocean wait
for light to touch windows and drapes,
for names, voices sliding
in rippling grief and heavy drift
of death, spreading, birthing
a new world writhing through
rising plague, morning still stained
in red, mauve, orange and turmeric smeared
across every landscape that dares to open wide.
Pat Hanahoe-Dosch’s poems have been published in The Paterson Literary Review, Rattle, The Atticus Review, Panoplyzine, Confrontation, Rust + Moth, American Literary Review, Apple Valley Review, The Red River Review, San Pedro River Review, Apt, among many others. Her books of poems, The Wrack Line, and Fleeing Back, can be found on Amazon.com or the FutureCycle Press website. Her short stories have been published in The Peacock Journal, In Posse Review, Sisyphus, Manzano Mountain Review, and the Schuylkill Valley Journal, among others. Check out her website at https://pahanaho.wixsite.com/pathanahoedosch and Twitter @PHanahoeDosch