Frozen Charlotte
She will fall out of your hands,
head cracking open
to let her
spiderlings swarm out
You see her lying
from the view beyond your shoulder
the cinnamon dust
eyes slowing glazing,
china-headed delusions
leaking out to
dampen the moss
She is waiting
for her living half to come back to her
prone upon the forest cover
ground bees conspire a death,
hum like basilica bells
to lull her to sleep;
they find an open fissure
and leave their nectar deep inside
—Cherree Wellman, Middleton, WI
