Unholy Sonnet by Mark J. Mitchell

Her breath blows cold today. Facing both dark

and light, a note escapes. An almost name

is mouthed. A god who forgot her arrives

without calling her. The solemn song dives

down a scale, a relic from time marked

by slapped memory. She offers small, plain

words and the presence becomes an ikon.

Her bones remember—recall night with no

human flesh, all the sacrifice this song

asks, that she’s given, free, fey as an old

doll, left in weather. Moonlight spreads out, stark

as time. That god who loved her makes his cuts.

Blood, long desired begins to flow down plain

white tiles. She breathes out names of divine lust.

Mark J. Mitchell

Mark J. Mitchell

Mark J. Mitchell has been a working poet for fifty years. He’s the author of five full-length collections, and six chapbooks. His latest collection is Something To Be from Pski’s Porch Publishing. He’s fond of baseball, Louis Aragon, Dante, and his wife, activist Joan Juster. He lives in San Francisco.

Leave a Reply