Because A Sharp Girl Must Be A Changeling
And the men say put her over
the fire just to see, and the women
say bake her a cake in a thimble,
just to see
has a story about human greed and a flood. The Queen
licks the blood from her blade.
We burn his photo under the tree. My friend, I trust her witchcraft.
No wonder songs are so full of denial. And what
did you do about that?
My fifteenth summer, I poured tears from two earthen pitchers and half the tears fell on dry ground and the other half spilled into the lake where the ripples spread like whispers in empty echo chambers.
I climbed the beanstalk, up and up, to the realm
Of pendulous curtains.
What made me want him? That supple, brutal kingsnake of a boy, wine-lipped and longhaired.
You resemble an angel created in a landfill.