poetry by ashley howell bunn

vision

this picture  picture this

can you say my name  shh ash ahsh ash

show me the writing  on the wall  we are where

where are we  hos  spit al spit   hos pit all  whose spit

spit it out  hospice in sit  respite in  a word be might   hospite

hold it  like my name  ash

/ember/

my friend holds ash and salt in his mouth while he reads, rolls it  with his tongue and swallows like it could be nourishment, and  as i write i think of all thats left after fire or drought, grains of  grief and electricity, and when i gave birth the burning is what i  remember most and my legs which would not be part of me and  the ember in the middle of my torso, loosened and emerged a  smallness covered in off-white vernix like wet ash and my body  and his are not part of this place that we have been pushed into  and as my blood left me and dried on the floor those crystals  glowing orange in the hospital light

Ashley Howell Bunn completed her MFA in poetry through Regis University and holds a MA in Literature from Northwestern University. She is on the editorial staff for the literary journal, Inverted Syntax and teaches writing workshops through Alchemy Author Services. Her work has previously appeared in The Colorado Sun, South Broadway Ghost Society, Global Poemic, Twenty Bellows, patchwork litmag, and others. When she isn’t writing, she guides and practices yoga and runs a small personal business centered around healing. She lives in Denver, CO with her partner and child.