Beth Woodcome
This night becomes another night.
Just as you’ve learned,
you will learn

You know this, and how.

Everyone smuggling traces
of light
underneath their heavy coats,
turning around,
turning around again,

What can you claim anymore?
By the end of this day
your body
will be worn

Scoured, Scorned.

The foyers
are filled with replicates
of the first person
you found.

Whoever that was,
she is endless.

She has ways to be a bird –
please allow this, even here.

In the city of the fleeing,
she goes off brilliant, beckoning.

Like your mouth in a tantrum,
she will continue
a death that is loud
and ignored.

Beth Woodcome lives in Boston. She is a Poetry Editor of Perihelion and her own work has appeared in Web Del Sol's Editor's Picks and other publications.


In Posse: Potentially, might be ...