Two Poems by Andrea Byrd

Healing

she wears 
barbed wire
around her
décolletage
to protect
herself from
men—

who devour 
hearts like 
peaches
with their 
canines
skinning them 
first, 

until the flesh
dissipates 
into forgotten
fruit, left to
rot

De-Vile

The devil
called my name and kissed
my cheek and told me that it 
was all right because everyone sins.
Mahogany.

He came in
the elevator,
sat with me and listened to
my problems that would never be fixed.
Wine.

He drank me,
in sips that sometimes
overflow my holy cup.
Sinning is sweet when he tells me to.
Scarlet.

I know him,
“I’ve seen you before,”
I say. “I’ve seen you before,”
he says. He is sly, he looks like me.
Cherry.

He went home
and I saw him still
in my dreams and in my glass.
He still whispers to me frequently.
Crimson.

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Andrea Byrd is a senior at Mississippi Valley State University. She is majoring in English with a concentration in creative writing. She enjoys writing flash fiction, poetry, and articles in various genres. She has published poems in Star82, Dream Noir, and the Asahi Haikuist Column in Japan.