Poetry by Lindsey Heatherly

                           Ffion Atkinson CC



Honey for Houseflies
 
You wave the back of your hand
and strap up your jaw
 
leave honey out for houseflies
and cover your ears as you pray
 
You read your biography
and smash the pages into your skin
 
                Maybe the words will stick this time
 
You cry when you forget
and you know mountains do too
 
So you collect dandelions
and crush them into your chest
 
You wait for them to take root
and spread among your desert heart
           
                 But there are places even weeds refuse to grow


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Lindsey is a writer born and raised in Upstate South Carolina. She has words in or forthcoming in Emerge Literary Journal, X-R-A-Y, Emrys Journal, Red Fez, Schuylkill Valley Journal and more. She spends her time at home raising a strong, confident daughter. Find her on her website at https://r3dwillow.wixsite.com/rydanmardsey or on Twitter: @rydanmardsey.  

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