White, like paper lanterns
no thoughts of consequence or meaning
they have been moulded into women
:good, clean but for the slow seep of
blood from their mouths:
talking, talking, talking,
red tongues moving with haste.
They talk a good game
but they can hardly walk with the same
exactitude and precision.
So precise, like the cut of a knife
through cold butter.
So precise, like the sharp clicking of
black pump heels down a sickly linoleum
Out of these heels come a pair of
long white legs,
hidden away by black nylon stockings:
no one shall see their trueness,
only the husband who owns them
:he owns the whole her, too.
She is erased a day at a time,
rewired like a circuit
by the skillful hands of her man.
Damned to an eternity of
clicking heels, breastfeeding,
and stirring tonights stew.
Its her responsibility!
She shows love passively, domestically,
with not a thought to anything else but this.
This expanse of whitewashed kitchen
where she sits a
fiscal cliffthis crystalline eye
clear and beautiful
free of imperfections
devoid of flaws
why are you crying?
is it politics?
the fiscal cliff?
o please don't cry
because, you see
the world is ending this month
and it will all be over soon
it will al be over soon.
The Deepest Partin the deepest part of my head
i try every door
jammed with expensive chewing gum
and congealed turkey fat left over from thanksgiving
it makes me sick
i turn to run
run run run
get out of this place
but when i get to door where i came in
its jammed too
the door grins at me
with splinters for teeth
and peepholes for eyes
they look at me obscenely
not missing an inch of me
even seeing inside me
to the deepest part of my head
to the deadlines
i keep locked in there
in the deepest part of my head
Molly McBrideI'm going to tell you a story,
the story of Molly McBride,
a girl, six and ten
a girl with a pen
Who made a corpse cry when she died.
Miss Molly McBride, she loved to create,
crafting beautiful words with her pen,
but along came a spider
who sat down beside her
And infected the girl, six and ten.
That small wicked spider made her oh, so sick,
they thought that she may die,
so she sat on a tomb
to wait out her doom
When a spry dancing corpse caught her eye.
The corpse danced a jig, and whistled one too,
'twas a sight young Mol had ne'er seen,
with his fingers all blacked
and his back all cracked
Sang the corpse, 'The name's Jacky James Green.'
'O Jacky, dear Jacky, what a wonderful name,
would you mind if I danced with you?'
So he took her by the hand
though she struggled to stand
And they danced the whole night through.
The night began to come to a close,
but the gruesome pair continued to dance,
though their shoes had worn
and their feet were torn
the seed sown that night was romance.
Red Don't Have No Mercy in This LandEvery once in a while, a lonely girl would go down to the muddy river. She would sit down on a felled tree. And she would cry. She would cry and bite her fist to keep her sobs muffled and dig her fingernails into her palm until blood was pulsing down her arm. Her sobs would gradually die down, she would regain composure, and she would go home.
I'm that girl. The name's Kay. Where were we? I was headed home.
'Hel-oo,' Vince greets me as I shut the door behind me.
'Hey, Vince.' I navigated around the various piles of junk to get to the fireside to sit next to him. He had wrapped a stiff plaid blanket around his old shoulders but he still looked uncomfortably cold, even though the day had been a scorcher to say the least. I wished I could help him by making him a cup of tea, but tea was expensive. And illegal.
I heard something from upstairs and asked Vince what it was.
'Oh, that girl from 'cross town stopped by and asked after you. Told her to wait for you to get back.'