Greetings,
My name is Emily MacLeod and I'm going to read to you one of my poems.
Ink of Ash Black of ink,
Blend of ash Find a place on body part Scratch of memory,
Scar of hope Etch a pattern close to heart Choose the cloth woven threads Favored garb well worn so thin Dress the corpse in colors bright Vivid strokes adorning him This tender place beside my hip He once so much enjoyed Mark the spot with deep pinprick Let artwork fill that void We laid him down in bed of wool Encased by timber frame We drew on wood an ache of love Beauty awash with pain The artist's pot black as soot Enhanced by precious ash Scour deep,
Let it hurt Let scoring whip like lash I drew a bird right by his feet Resplendent wings outstretched My love,
How much he longed to soar Wild gusts of wind to catch Bird aloft in chiseled black Pokes deep right through my skin I want the pain that pricks and burns To match the one within I couldn't follow to the pyre On which his body burned I stayed behind,
I couldn't watch My love to ashes turn And now the coarseness blends with ink Forever on my thigh Alight he flies,
Earthbound no more His brilliance joins the sky He's gone now far beyond the weight and pull Of earth and stone But part of him is inked on me In ash of blood and bone
