Tale Weaver Prompt 2: Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner and Writing Prompt # 95 – Phantasmagoria

The door to my mind is ajar

Everyone stumbles on entry

Some thresholds should not be

Undertaken alone

(even for the sake of dinner).

It is not for me to offer

The tenets’ identity

Lonely women will often lie

Beneath the plainest stones

But I would never dare

Call such women ordinary

They do not even require a name

For who would dare personify

That which is already human?


The stars are all broken

The stars are all crossed

Nothing that is left

Could possibly last.

I traveled a thousand miles

Over land and sea

Through the offal

Of countless identities.

Everyone I’ve touched

Has taken a piece of me

What was prime is now

Perishable and had I lived

I might have faced you

You being a euphemism for me.


There were three at the beginning

I the mother, I the daughter, I the spirit

But one of them had to die

That the others could

Entertain another holiday.

The daughter is not likely

To rise again

For no one ever loved her

As though she were a child.

Some people are born

Without permission

Such scars are sure to survive

For how could death contain them?