by Leonora Ross
Whitechapel, 1888
We each have our own dark alley
but tonight huddle under the gas lamp,
its dim light false comfort.
No hooves echo on the cobbles this late.
For once we don’t want to hear footsteps –
the monster’s still out there.
Mary’s murder gives us the shivers;
she was like us, needing pennies for a bed,
dreaming of a different life.
Nowadays I carry a cut-throat.
If I meet the devil I’ll try my hardest
to end this nightmare.
Anne Eyries has work published or forthcoming in Consilience, Cranked Anvil, Dream Catcher, Green Ink Poetry, Moss Puppy Magazine, Mslexia, Reflex Press, The Hyacinth Review, The Piker Press, and others. She lives in France.
Leonora Ross is an artist and novelist from Western Canada. She is passionate about the natural world, an avid hiker and an amateur photographer. Her writing and photography have appeared in several literary magazines, including most recently in Backwards Trajectory, The Penmen Review, and The Penn Review. Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/leonorarossauthor/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/leonorarossauthor/ X: https://x.com/LeonoraAuthor.