segments of girlhood

madeleineringer

there is a bird in my mouth i do not speak so she may live i once thought her restless twitches were nesting, something like love, but i am beginning to believe she wants to get out

2

i. the bird

i bury the rot.

a shovel lies in my bed and dirt sears the pits of my fingernails; where is the sun’s forgiveness? i hope it finds me.

i plant seeds they have drowned and starved and blossomed.

i grow a garden but sometimes the rot births itself, a corpse buried alive.

3

i. the rot

am i not empty enough for you? have i not carved myself out for you? did i not dig my grave to offer you the dirt? will you take my bones too? will you?

4

bones

thedrought

at least once a week i am dried up a pool in a drought

i cannot find a reason but still i search i pace these four walls and hold my breath by habit but i do not float i lay against a concrete bed the blue sky is beautiful but i fear it feels my sadness and the cold, i know, hears my madnessi pace i sit i feel nothing i feel it all. but soon enough the rain will fall with no sense brought with it and i will swim and bathebut for now, i wait

5

my mind is buried in a labyrinth; i scattered my ashes in corners of the hedge overgrowth

buried deep down below with the worms and the roots i have placed the map to my soul

you need not a compassit is where the fig tree grows

i am spinning in the middle of it all; gravity bows at my feet and i rise like i fall,

all at once, over my head, then down again like nothing at all

the stars are winking at me and i am squinting to see their smug smiles, omniscient and naïve.

6

labyrinth

the birds are chirping this eve the sky is light and the trees lean in to whisper springhassprung

i know it is true the ash on my tongue has dissolved into dew

my nose runs bloody but i smile through, luck is in my pocket; company of a four-leafed clover, plucked by you

plath’sspring

7

here she comes the blue-tongued lady with a hundred ghosts walking in her wake through the trees and decaying leaves

O’ resurrection is an unforgiving fate

waltzing in the mud on a summer’s day she is Death’s perfect forecast, its beautiful damned dame and the soliders beg hush your cried-out shame see now, see now, the lake does not swallow her obedient hearse, and the petals lie still, pumped full of salt,

O’ see how they are rusted through with romance and man’s paranoid thought.

ophelia

here she comes the blue-tongued lady with a hundred ghosts walking in her wake through the trees and decaying leaves O’ resurrection is an unforgiving fate

waltzing in the mud on a summer’s day she is Death’s perfect forecast, its beautiful damned dame

and the soliders beg hush your cried-out shame see now, see now, the lake does not swallow her obedient hearse,

and the petals lie still, pumped full of salt,

O’ see how they are rusted through with romance and man’s paranoid thought. here she comes the blue-tongued lady with a hundred ghosts walking in her wake through the trees and decaying leaves O’ resurrection is an unforgiving fate

waltzing in the mud on a summer’s day she is Death’s perfect forecast, its beautiful damned dame

and the soliders beg hush your cried-out shame see now, see now, the lake does not swallow her obedient hearse,

with a hundred ghosts walking in her wake through the trees and decaying leaves O’ resurrection is an unforgiving fate

waltzing in the mud on a summer’s day she is Death’s perfect forecast, its beautiful damned dame

and the petals lie still, pumped full of salt,

ARE WE STRANGERS? YOU LIVE IN MY SKIN

here she comes the blue-tongued lady with a hundred ghosts walking in her wake through the trees and decaying leaves

the blue-tongued lady with a hundred ghosts walking in her through the trees and decaying leaves

O’ resurrection is an unforgiving fate

waltzing in the mud

waltzing in the mud on a summer’s day she is Death’s perfect forecast, its beautiful damned dame

she is Death’s perfect forecast, its beautiful damned dame

here she comes the blue-tongued lady with a hundred ghosts walking in her wake through the trees and decaying leaves

and the petals lie still, pumped full of salt,

O’ resurrection is an unforgiving fate

O’ see how they are rusted through with romance and man’s paranoid thought.

waltzing in the mud on a summer’s day she is Death’s perfect forecast, its beautiful damned dame

and the soliders beg hush your cried-out shame

and the soliders beg hush your cried-out shame see now, see now, the lake does not swallow her obedient hearse,

and the petals lie still, pumped full of

and the petals lie still, pumped full of salt,

O’ see how they are rusted through with romance and man’s paranoid thought.

9

Through the moors and their moreish drear hides three graves all buried near

Two lie full but the third is amiss and with her door ajar, she wanders from the abyss her dress drips dew and the darkening clouds quicken, running through the night with each footstep hidden

I awake in the morn feverish from chill; my window open O’ I see the scratch marks still

I leave the house high up on the heights, but before I do, I smell the presence of Death and vintage perfume.

10

cathy cathy cathy cathy cathy cathy cathy cathy cathy cathy cathy cathy cathy cathy cathy cathy cathy cathy

i have started working the graveyard shift again i have made friends with its secrets its damp earth and creatures

and when i sleep when i cry when i weep the dead crawl through my window and rock me to rest so still am i, under their touch and moth-like breath.

thegraveyardshift

11

thegraveyardshift

only the soft and fresh understand why Isabella set the sun on fire; only the burning young are convinced they burn brighter than the sun