Poetry by Devon Henry
Tell me again, that story I am not meant to know
The imperfect history, the missing pieces
The incomplete inscription and defaced monuments
She who is lost to time, whose name is whispered in passing
She of the many motives, She of the furtive glance
Take me to where her cult meets, teach me her rites
Say her name to my face like an incantation, tell me how the people loved her
The one whose temple I stand in, judged and found wanting
Memories like offerings left at my feet, a golden age long gone
A rare glimpse, a pottery shard
Tell me the very truth of it all
Start at the beginning
“I was their witness.”
About the Poet
Devon Henry is a writer and poet from Los Angeles. Her work has appeared in Wired, Human Parts, Sybil Journal, and Medium, among others.
Vita Brevis Press. 