Reflection
She looked at herself in the mirror. Her face shattered.
The Dishwasher is Singing
The choir sings
above the rush
of scalding water.
Soprano voices soar
above the churn
of soap.
I hear no melody,
I only hear the
waves of singers
calling out.
Perhaps they sing
to mourn
the carcasses
of animals
I’ve eaten.
The choir sings
in early dark,
though the dishwasher
rests in silence.
I wonder if
someone I know
will die today.
Nolcha Fox is a regular contributor to Dark Entries. You can find her bio here.