BY S. ELIZABETH
Something about the moon but it is always my mother
This moon how
it drips
and pools
and you—
these many years gone.
Will I weep when
these mirrors
dim and
your reflection clouds
and a moon is just a moon
and dew is just
night mist
soaking the pads of cat feet
and there are no more mirrors
on the cusp of a night in autumn
when on the morning
your photograph has finally
begun to fade.
S. Elizabeth is a writer, curator, and frill-seeker. Her essays and interviews focusing on esoteric art have appeared in Coilhouse, Dirge Magazine, Death & The Maiden, and her occulture blog Unquiet Things, which intersects music, fashion, horror, perfume, and grief. She is the co-creator of The Occult Activity Book Vol 1 and 2 and a staff writer at Haute Macabre. She is the author of The Art Of The Occult (White Lion Publishing/The Quarto Group).