Izred wears every prayer cremated in a liar’s lung around
her neck in the stunning pretense gold can buy the ear of a goddess. A daughter
born on the dark side of the moon, first born of the goddess Erebeth, she fed
from the breast of shadows until she was old enough to eat the black tar of
dying stars. Feral child of neglect she learned the value of hiding opinions
behind teeth and eye until revelation held the fiercest sting.
The first line of my poem " Does it burn my dear? Does it trouble you" is from Kerry O'Conner's poem Firefly I had several conversations about abuse this week, and when I read that line all those conversations began to mold into a poem.