D.W. Baker

The luster of her roses was the envy of the neighborhood. 
Every edge was freshly painted. Every lawn was perfectly regular.
She inhaled deeply, savoring the scent, as the lively petals danced.
The unhoused knew to stay away. The rumors traveled fast.

Every edge was freshly painted. Every lawn was perfectly regular.
She let the hunger grow for months before deciding when to strike.
The unhoused knew to stay away. The rumors traveled fast.
To guard the family recipe, she never gardened during the day.

She let the hunger grow for months before deciding when to strike.
She lowered the harvest into the chipper, fingers last of all.
To guard the family recipe, she never gardened during the day.
You can hear her singing softly to her darlings in the night.

She lowered the harvest into the chipper, fingers last of all.
She inhaled deeply, savoring the scent, as the lively petals danced.
You can hear her singing softly to her darlings in the night.
The luster of her roses was the envy of the neighborhood. 

D.W. Baker is a submerging poet from St. Petersburg, Florida, where he writes about place, bodies, belonging, and the end of the world. His work appears in Divinations Magazine, horror senryu journal, Voidspace, and Corporeal Lit, among others, and has been nominated for Best of the Net. He volunteers on the mastheads of Cosmic Daffodil and Hearth & Coffin. See more of his work at www.dwbakerpoetry.com