CRIME Poem: Lessons in Poetry, by Emily Mancuso

As a protest to jockeying, I beat a dead horse
Hearing the still breath of the piebald
I love conducting witchcraft in Ohio graveyards
Inhaling the taste of frozen blood
on an iron wrought fence
Hearing only slush
and gravel

Smelling this mush I come to a fury
Then calm to worship the sun
rising over gravestones
Ghosted by even the night

“I can’t afford to die,” says the nearest stone
The ghostly goulash of rotting things
The dead grass of resilence

The marker speaks to me, “Why do you beat a horse?”
Emmie pays no mind to what gravestones have to say
Witchcraft is lessons in poetry

Cursing the sun when it rises above the treeline
and awakens birdsong
Running from the yard
and taking off down the brightening street, I say
“I am sister of Calliope, sigomi!” to no one in particular
I’ll go down the street, to the church by the corner
And ask the cross if they have any more horses