#8 Santa Fe Wedding by Winsome Charter

Growed up & thrust
Into the stillness:

Moon showing its hid face
Stars like spilled salt

On a black table
Who will clean this mess

Up who will
In the star-addled night

Thwart and throttle
Teeter near the edge of what-all’s

Got you girl
Little angel of the valle

Little bear-cub little howler
On the llano all growed up

Little cholla
Little yucca with your spiked hair

Waddling the fenceline
Listing on the cusp of

In the white gown of
In the pink church of

Saying I do saying yes
Little doggie saying whoa

Winsome Charter, born in West Virginia to parents who belonged to a charismatic church where they handled snakes and spoke in tongues, left home at 17. Her upbringing still lingers in her interests in incoherence and poisons, and thus poetry. All her poems appear in the online journal SCREWRENT

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