HORROR Poem: Courir, by Lumina Miller

New mother,
does not want to receive
the blanket of a child deceased.

Removing the stone from my mouth—
calling forth Louisiana lessons
pink salt, copper, and clay
to seal that mouth and keep you
at bay.

Knocking, vibrations,
shearing forces that screech then
h o w l
ruining any attempt at sleep.

A threefold payment for marring
this blissful time, continuing that
suffocating push and shove to
take, take, take.

Can count blessings, make tallies, take tepid showers
and shake—
things have taken a turn.
I’m not suddenly difficult, just a well behaved
real witch.