Fallen Angel
  Barefoot in the February snow
She stands alone on the bridge
Limbs like twigs
With a mind as easily broken
Her back and shoulders bent
As if she's trying
To crawl into herself
She stares into
The churning water
With eyes centuries old
And shadowed by old ghosts
Her mouth agape
Like a jagged wound
Open in a raw and
Voiceless scream
As her soul bleeds
From vacant eyes
She tastes salt
On cracked lips
And knows she has
Been turned into a statue

 
   

© Amber Drake 2024
First published in Visionary Tongue, issue #13. 

 

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