It’s as late as afternoon can get,
the in-between time, when the light
is low and golden on the brink of night,
and the horizon is haunted by the silhouette
of a spiny hawthorn tree blossoming white.
The witch of Beltane protects us from the bite
of vampires and other creatures of darkness, yet
allows grim and silent ghosts, her acolytes,
to cross our thresholds; they don’t need us to invite
them in, not after the last tint of sunset.
Kim M. Russell, 23rd April 2019
Sanaa is back with another Tuesday Platform and a poem by Emily Dickinson: ‘I Felt A Funeral In My Brain’. The inspiration for the poem-a-day challenge is to write a horror poem that makes one taste the dark in broad daylight.