So much of our violence happens in the wings,
unscripted. Under the bed. Inside the closet.
Where the monsters breathe. Secret even when
we speak their names. What can I say about
a story that leaves me so soft with praise
for pure evil? Dear God, release the demons,
the real bloody mary bloody mary fuckers
that give us something to point at and say
your fault say unholy spirit we cast you out!
What are we left without them? Our own sins
bright as a mother’s grief. Headless daughters.
The terrible truth that our bodies are made
of pieces. The helplessness of a good house.
Give me the devil. I can’t sit in this dark theater
without him. Please tell me there’s a reason
families devour themselves whole, for blood
so dark it looks like tar. Tell me there’s
an infernal design. Something I can trace
with the tips of my trembling fingers.
Show it to me and don’t hold anything back.
M. Brett Gaffney holds an MFA in Poetry from Southern Illinois University. Her chapbook, Feeding the Dead (Porkbelly Press), was nominated for a 2019 Elgin Award from the Science Fiction and Fantasy Poetry Association. She works as co-editor of Gingerbread House Literary Magazine and writes about scary stuff on her blog at No Outlet Horror Reviews.
Facebook: M. Brett Gaffney
Twitter: @mbrettgaffney
Instagram: @lovelyquixote
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