Lauren Rose

Lauren Rose


Lauren Rose studies creative writing and biology at Sierra Nevada University. Her previous work is in “Burnt Pine Magazine,” “The Coachella Review Blog,” “Peregrine Journal Issue XXXIV,” and “Running Wild Press Anthology of Stories.” Follow her on Facebook @lauren.rose.102.

I'll Hear You

by Lauren Rose

your scream
splits the still night
heavy with creosote perfume
and the sweet scent
of darkness

a terrified yowl of desperation
sharp through my closed window
so primitive, wild, and raw
it still drips with the 
gelatinous slime
of birth

a flash of gleaming eyes 
scrawny legs that blur in the night
a dissonant, yowling choir with
jaws snapping 
tongues lolling 
drool spraying

a painful howl
rips from your raw throat
you feel their hot breath 
on your ankles
try to run
squeal as
rotten teeth sink into your 
warm flesh

suffocate on the clamp 
sealing your throat.

I stand in my bedroom
listen to your garbled pleas for help
stare into the curtain of dark
wonder if
I ran I could make it
if
I yelled they would stop
if 
I threw myself into the street
we could fight them,
together,
but, I can only hear your terror
echoing somewhere
in the mist of night

I close my eyes
force myself to listen
to your wet
disbelieving, death moans
I hear you

I hear you. 

I’ll stand here
and I’ll hear you
until my fingers swell with
blood
until the skin of my feet 
ulcerates
until my ravenous stomach
howls.

I’ll stand here
and I’ll hear you
until those who sleep
wake.

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