my wings made up of
If you’re in the mood for a poem that’s unsettling and full of “open wounds”, then Courtney Leigh’s newest poem won’t disappoint. Made up of twenty-four lines in five stanzas, Leigh gives us a visceral scene without restraint or stopping. Here, angels are no different from the demons or “skeletons chained / to shackles”, reminding us that death comes to things real and imaginary, mortal and immortal. There is no love here, just the “three lovers” bringing about the apocalypse. Doused in blood and flame without overkill, we’re part of “the storm closing in” on the speaker, and there’s no escape from beasts or nature.