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If Saul’s turn had been so dark, then how was his crown left gleaming? If Endor’s witch had been so stank, with blemished skin, nose bent to hell, her fingers, plague-wrought lances, then how could his posture have held the weight of guilt on top of royalty? Of shame balanced on the stones of religion? She had to be beautiful. She had to be long and bent over cauldron to take him in and scream her rites of ambition, envy, passion. She had to be ready to squeal his title (king) and name (blasphemer) to make him melt and see the whole of Hebrew future as mere dice to be cast and lost into missioned poison. About Timothy TarkellyHe has an MA in Theatre (Drama Therapy) from Kansas State University. His poems have been featured by Whisper and the Roar, Paragon Journal, Lycan Valley Press, Aphelion, Poets & War, and Fourth & Sycamore. He works for a non-profit that serves survivors of domestic and sexual violence.
Social media links: https://twitter.com/TimothyTarkelly
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Coalesce, on surfaces dried for gathering, to break bread and penance and ask for a cleaner robe. Acid, poured in chalice heart and swallowed to break a bond forged in tradition. About Timothy Tarkellyhas an MA in Theatre (Drama Therapy) from Kansas State University. His poems have been featured by Whisper and the Roar, Paragon Journal, Lycan Valley Press, Aphelion, Poets & War, and Fourth & Sycamore. He works for a non-profit that serves survivors of domestic and sexual violence. Social media links: https://twitter.com/TimothyTarkelly To read more check out Cauldron Anthology's Issue 3. |
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