Cemetery Feeling
Tonya Eberhard
The Brontë Legend on ecstasy:
Moors stretching on endlessly,
swallowing the decrepit house
under a sky of gloom.
Escaping out the window of
the doomed household, bound in
tragedy and sickness.
Crossing weeds to the
cemetery. There they are,
as promised. Taking a joint,
they smoke pot behind the tombstones.
Ducking under the shadow of
the great looming church. Hunched
over like criminals, keeping watch for
authority and ghost.
She was saintly sex-starved
so he crushed his joint and
smothered her lips with his.
Something blossomed in her heart
like a firecracker.