Beast and bone tower in dead zoos
without fail, each time a skull that housed a heritage, antlers angel wingspan
fractured lines fermented shifting permeance
presiding over dark and crumbled earth, beetle-shelled glint, rotted rain
melted you away in every stride, chocolate carcass left us hollowed eyes of someone who
saw wars and cherry wine flow bitter from the mouths of flies
bolted down through yellowing joints, strung up in a new world and I,
the furthest from magnificence, can only gaze upwards in imagined genuflect,
and in our visits the displaced may comfort the dead.
Meg Mulcahy is a poet and writer based in Dublin, Ireland. She runs on cold brew and hope. Her work has featured in several publications including Kissing Dynamite Poetry, Crêpe & Penn, and Silk + Smoke, winning the Halloween Flash Fiction Competition 2019. You can always find her on Twitter at @TheGoldenMej.