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Earth is hard outside the gate,
bitter plants will grow-- shrunken fruit brittle stem rotten root thistle and soot, words as sharp as thorns. When angels guard the garden door, there is no going back. Rain falls hard outside the gate, poured from an ashen sky. Never again a gentle mist the dappled light a self-forgetful kiss. Never our call and His welcome reply. When holy terror stops our cry, there is no going back. I keep this memory in heart: a good day’s work the whispering air toes in the stream soft bed of fern; my forehead on his shoulder bare the edges of a dream the quiet of our sweet return. * * * a short walk, some small talk and Did God really say? * * * Hearts grow hard outside the gate, cracking jars of clay of beetles and snakes maggot and worm shatter and break; assign the blame turn and flee shiver and shame belong to me. Send good news outside the gate, past the altar stained with blood, find us on this sun-cracked mud. Crush this demon gliding after me, lead me to a better door, a different tree. -- Brianne Holmes lives in Upstate South Carolina where she works in marketing and communications. In 2016, she earned a Master of Arts in English with a concentration in Creative Writing from East Carolina University. Her writing has appeared in several publications, including the North Carolina Literary Review, Relief, Solum Journal, As Surely As the Sun Literary, Underwood Press and Heart of Flesh Literary Journal.
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