by Emma Overton
The smell of wood smoke,
Spiralling up to that
slice of space
seen from between
the sentinel houses.
Her belly, dark blue
and pregnant with promise.
The moon is absent,
The sky the fuller for it
Eyes drawn to intricacies
Of stretch mark clouds
and stars, like piercings,
soft wide gloom.
We sit around the fire,
Words flow and ebb and die.
We watch her as she glides
The buzz of cola on our tongues
and I wonder, if others,
under her indifferent guard,
are gazing up at her beauty
Copyright © 2022 – Emma Overton. All rights reserved.
About the Author
It is with reluctance Emma Overton accepts she lives in the ‘real world’ (the lack of mermaids and werewolves found in nature has long been a sore point). She has settled on writing fantasy worlds to make up for this disappointing dearth. She has so far published Failing Baili on Amazon and hopes to add other adventures in the future.
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