Callie S. Blackstone
In the film Carnival of Souls, Mary Henry
stumbles out of the river,
across the desert, past an abandoned carnival
and floating faces. She tells multiple priests
that playing the organ is just a job
and she doesn’t need god. She tells her neighbor
she doesn’t need companionship. She doesn’t need
anyone, anything–she’s always been a loner.
She stumbles down main street,
lurches from side to side, pauses, meets a bird
with her eye, is drawn in
by its song. She takes a breath
then stumbles on.
We have always been here
and we have met in the night.
You mistake our divination
tools for necklaces, cards,
tea. We can tell the future
with the flick of a wrist,
the movement of fingers,
the draining of a cup.
You believe you have
suppressed us. We have existed
all along, able to see
your next move
before the thought
is even born
in your mind.
We let you think
you’re clever. We let you think
you can hunt us
down. But we are the hunters
watching from the shadows,
ready to strike.
Callie S. Blackstone writes both poetry and prose. Her work has been published in Hayden’s Ferry Review, Rust+Moth, and elsewhere. Her work has been nominated for a Pushcart and Best of the Net. Her debut chapbook sing eternal is available through Bottlecap Press.
More information is available at:
calliesblackstone.com.
Banner Art:
from Orange Carousel Ride During Night Time, Alex Grodkiewicz, Unsplash, 2017
