Poem: Sarah Sloat sarahjsloat.com
Music: Sidney Irvine pixsid.bandcamp.com
Voice: Cindy St. Onge vimeo.com/cindystonge
Images: Carol Blyberg flickr.com/people/smilla4 (cc licensed)
Concept & Edit: Marie Craven pixieguts.com
by Sarah Sloat
Up from smolder, smoke sits knitting its braid in the dark.
Tuck the tip into your locket, curled and frayed in dark.
I took sad receipt of your last letter, a scratch of ink
and ash borne on the edge of a spade in the dark.
Bury the memory in your little black dress. One bite
of bourbon and dirge becomes serenade in the dark.
All August I tended an intimate simmer. Fog caught
under glass, warmed over a flame that swayed in the dark.
Needle and thread lend sense to these evenings. I embroider
a train of long silence, come to fetch those waylaid in the dark.
A tinkling glass roams the house, seeking firm purchase.
Such ruined music is my nightlight, a lullaby played in the dark.