Feast on my Decay
Updated: Aug 5, 2018
by Emma Turner
This is what decomposing feels like the creeping
crawling under your toes up the rug to the other
side of the world and then I keep forgetting
my stream of thought with the actual weight.
The weirdness of trying to communicate the now
Walk outside for undulation and balance but
these pieces keep dropping not puzzle
something more like cherry cream sugar
Fat dollops of life that don’t fill the holes,
but make more and I can’t resist falling
into them over and over…
Yes, the shadows in the forest have a different energy
lonely, they beg you to sit in the dark and stay
Please know me gently soft moss
For my bones feel old and I won’t
suppress the desire to die here
in your arms; they are the softest to me
About the author: Emma B. Turner is a feminist writer, artist, and farmer who studied English at Tufts University. When not busy making things, Emma enjoys reading and walking in the woods.
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