Flesh and Jasmine Betsy Sullivan Poetry

local_library Flesh and Jasmine

by Betsy Sullivan

Published in Issue No. 194 ~ July, 2013

A pretty hushed house.

Sun slashes through leagues of glass

Stars and Venus filter through the leafy bower of

night blooming jasmine.


A shriek, a call.  (Beware the basement.)


Night falls like fractals,

And my sound soul turns into pixels.

Cue the nightscares:

claws caught in the hair,

a cry in the cochlea,

a musty rummage down the spine.


A shriek, a call.  (Beware the basement.)


We pulled them

—one, two, three—

From the undercarriage of the house.

Skeletons curled like commas,

A menagerie of ribs, spines, teeth, phlanges.

–one, two, three—

Little skulls, anointed with bleach,

Too much glutted on citrus or age or antifreeze.


A shriek, a call.  (Beware the basement.)


A little hushed grave.

Dust motes swirling in the crawl space,

Moon and clouds casting long lines on the

Dessicated flesh and jasmine.

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When she is not writing or teaching her post-modern warriors, Betsy Sullivan practices yoga, paints, perfects her penne vodka, and embarks on urban safaris in LA. Betsyvalentine.nubook.com