Finger Snap Series Presents: A Poem.
Bacchanals
strong girls falling
out of spinning trees
wear your bruises proud
as fresh tattoos
staining your soft skin
in purple, yellow, blacks and blues
*
zoom – crash – clack –
the carnal power of bruised knees
of music and muscle engaged
flesh clinging onto the edge of marionette illusion
weightless, heady, float as a cloud
dangle fruit off of every branch, beauty
for a worthy pilgrim’s hands
burning – burning – burning
with each touch, the audience grows wild
these rites conducted in utmost secrecy
in the bewitching hours
when passions are easily aroused
until the lights go up, a warning flare
their night’s affair is done, audience ousted
they drink it all in, their honey season harvest
pack away crown, robes, immortal longings
into gym bags and makeup pouches
these dancers scatter out the door
exchanging fierce congratulations
*
she keeps the company of foxes
in the dead hours of pre-dawn
locks eyes with them, these moonlit omens
shadowy confidantes walking the same road
parallel heart, this last stargazer standing
waits a moment for the birdsong
and salutes them with a smile, gone
on the tap-tap-tap of her heels
before the sunlight arrives with its suspicions
Emer Ní Fhoghlú is an Irish writer from Waterford with a degree in Historical Costume. She has an interest in Gothic horror, historical fiction and drama. She works in film and theatre, and is a contributor to Bad Bride Magazine.
Follow her @emfleurette