She sees only the web
glistening in the moonlight
streaming through the window
over her lonely bed.
She heeds only the bite
of the pain, that crimson kiss,
and wonders if enough venom
now fills her empty veins.
She cares only about absence,
the sound of a church after midnight,
a sky without stars. Sweating,
she removes her silk nightgown,
hangs it near the black veil
and trembling, lies down, pale.
(Happy Halloween!)
About Bartholomew Barker
Bartholomew Barker is an organizer of Living Poetry, a collection of poets in the Triangle region of North Carolina where he has hosted a monthly feedback workshop for more than decade. His first poetry collection, Wednesday Night Regular, written in and about strip clubs, was published in 2013. His second, Milkshakes and Chilidogs, a chapbook of food inspired poetry was served in 2017. He was nominated for a Pushcart Prize in 2021. Born and raised in Ohio, studied in Chicago, he worked in Connecticut for nearly twenty years before moving to Hillsborough where he lives and writes poetry.
Bartholomew Barker, Poet 
Yup – some folk embrace misery.
Queen Victoria comes to mind – wrapped in her own loss, while her subjects starved. I’m not a fan.
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Interesting interpretation. I was trying for a Victorian vibe.
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The Lord preserve us from Victorian vibes! Theyr’e mostly Imperialistc, selfish, restricitve – just plain Naaaaasty.
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Deliciously spooky.
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Thanks! I was hoping it’d fit for Halloween.
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well now, that wasn’t creepy at all
😅
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Just an average, everyday poem.
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