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

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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