Little St. James by Annika Holland
A few monastic secrets
mute of malice
and another complete reappearance of summer!
bubbling again along the gun-shine coast
thrashing a bit
We sit up
an ambulance spears toward some limit
wondering, then, how each year passes in the skulls of red wasps
Can they see all flowers are orphans?
All the white roses
with their pollinated expressions?
This morning loaded cunts come and dissever slums
dragging their children of the flames
and everything forgotten, stretched over with evil
they’re filthy as they unfold
Thank god we weren’t carted off to Little St. James or somewhere
or by chance somewhere putrefying, apart
unloaded
contained for any weekend
Annika Holland is a writer and musician based in the Pacific Northwest. Her work has appeared in both print and online publications, including The Black Flowers Arts Journal, A VOID Magazine, Willow Springs Magazine, and Edge of Humanity Magazine. She is the author of the poetry collection My Pet Consciousness (2022) and is currently completing her second poetry collection and a short novel, Oubliette, due for release in 2026.”
