Oct 17, 2024
A harlot moon: the fires burning in the west turn the light
bloody before night takes its lease of the sky. A red moon, shrugged
from the shoulder of Orion, rises to the seashell resonance of the city and
the night is thick with dust and sweet-mouthed promises, baby, it will be over soon.
A long yowl cuts the heat, incoherent or spoken in tongues—a cat, fighting
for its piece of the world, dull scream swaying like a thurible. Miles to go
and no rapture in sight, just the slow ash clouds occulting the moon.
October by Nadia Bailey
