Say she calls the dead only if copper calls lightning or north calls geese, this starving churchmouse with sleepwalker's eyes hugging her skirts like a salvage of bones. Say the saints she prays to are cracked as mirrors, her cross the blackened rust of a winter tree. Say she will draw the ghosts from you only as time draws tears or soldiers draw fire, winding the world away down her silent stare until not even the memory of their loss lingers like a cobweb on your skin, a scratch on the glass, a stranger's
Just published As the Tide Came Flowing In (Nekyia Press, 2022) " Sibylline " ( Uncanny Magazine #47 ) " Last Minute " ( Strange Horizons 4/4/22 ) Coming soon
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