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Only Death Can Hear Her

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HomePoetryOnly Death Can Hear Her

 

fair-skinned and bleak
she cannot speak but she can write
when the shadows talk
her quill ignites

the ink spills down across the page
her words have volume, but make no sound
and can only be heard
were death is found

a slender black candle flickers
bleeding wax like open wounds
the scent of blood and memory
fills the hollow of the room

pain drapes her like velvet
soft, but never kind
and in the quiet between heartbeats
she leaves herself behind

her only friend, a field mouse,
visits to have a look—
only to be crushed
by her unsuspecting foot

death becomes her slowly
like a dress she did not choose
stitched in silence and sorrow
with nothing left to lose

Copyright @ April 2026 by Jackie R. Doucette
All rights reserved.

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