Just another poem on the theme of darkness
Which constricts to strangle, innocent as white trumpets
Of bindweed. In a basement we make fetuses of
Our figures until climbing vines of shadow encircle our
Necks in smoky tendrils. See? Rather than harm,
They mean only to support their stems’ fragile forms,
But the star-like stamens spore their own
Impossible pollen—black as squid ink in
Abyssopelagic deep sea. It’s only you and me
Blindly groping gossamer threads of light
Only seen when we slumber long enough to dream
In the fathoms. An anchor could not reach
The bottom of this night’s psyche. Struggling beneath
The penumbra, I claw you; you claw me. Each
Uses the other as flotation device in our fight to inhale
Luminosity. Our own personal phantasmagoria
Blankets my brain as granules of
Winter’s first snow, so I am unable
To recall the convolvulus’ common name:
Morning Glory.
Willow Loveday Little is a British-Canadian writer and poet whose work has appeared in several publications, including The Dalhousie Review. She holds a Bachelor of Arts from McGill University and actively contributes to Medium, where she maintains Top Writer status in three categories. Passionate about creative process, Willow curates the event series, “Pieces of Process,” and has coordinated the Family Area at the Montreal Folk Fest since 2015. She can be found at local events supporting emerging artists, or hunched over her laptop, crying into her manuscript.
