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All white light and yellow braids astride small prehistoric ponies; galloping, fearless into the abyss. Slain men lie waiting Father Odin - expecting miracles and burials. They are the Cassandras; Cleopatras - Lady Lazarus / Red-plumed Phoenix. They are Rhys, Rich and Browning They are the housewives the lesbians the Bishops: all trans. Catching together the shredded rainbow grouper They are Emily, a symbol - Plath in the oven They are the tired mothers; endless survivors - they are so loving and so angry. They are in my head my head, my head - Echoing hoofbeats deep in my cochlea They are me: writing, struggling dodging my own sparks and lightning Streaking across open meadows burning like Hellfire with the acrid smell of death in my nose Calling me Calling me to bring the words home. About Elisabeth HoranElisabeth Horan is a poet, mother, student, lover of kind people and animals, homesteading in Vermont with her tolerant partner and two young sons. She hopes the earth can withstand us and that humans may learn to be more kind to each other and to Mother Nature.
She has recently been featured at Quail Bell Magazine, Dying Dahlia Review and The Murmur House. Elisabeth is a 2018 MFA Candidate at Lindenwood University and teaches at River Valley Community College in New Hampshire. Follow her @ehoranpoet.
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