A S H L E Y M A R E S
H E R M E N E U T I C C H A O S J O U R N A L
Ashley Mares has a bachelor's in English Writing from Azusa Pacific University. She is in the process of completing her J.D in Monterey, CA, where she lives with her Husband. Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Turtle Island Quarterly, Absinthe Poetry Review, Sweet Tree Review, and Slim Volume.
B R E A K I N G
Even the first born of the dead
charges his angels with error –
like when they fly too close
to the water and their wings brush
my words out of place.
With my bones in hand
when the shadows unleash
their claws. In all our
conversations we never
spoke of this. We spoke
of moths whose wings tore
off after they confessed
their sins. We said
if they were innocent they
wouldn't be on our window sill
getting drenched by mist. We aren't
to blame by speeding up
the process. Their hiss would fly
away atop their wings if
it could. Seeing the
rising and falling
of your chest is a break
in the chain because I hold
your heart in hand. It speeds up
before it slows. If I look closely
I see the dampness of your scars.
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