monster girl

monster girl

talked back to her mother, wrists and ankles bound with sashes

thrashing in the garden for hours until her escape

mama said too little and her father drank too much

battered knees, bruised knuckles, black eye.

her mother gave her a straight back and a straighter path

she never wanted to be a wife, grew wings and fled

too rambunctious for the sweetness of her name

and Monster Girl ran fast.

but she lost her spirit in the crimson heat

buried every hatchet in her skin and learned discipline

prayed for the spirit to return but

the gods didn’t give it back

she searched for a new temple across the sea

elbows on the dinner table

always sang along with the birds

cartwheeled around the house

never held my chopsticks right

too big for the name my mother gave me

little monster girl.

look at your sister, little monster girl.

whistling is rude.

you’ll never find a husband if you’re like that.

i should know.

raised voices and the sound of dishes made me smaller

my heartbeat echoes other people’s footsteps now

i lost my whistle in the crimson heat

buried every hatchet in my skin and learned silence

i shrunk into elegance, learned to smile without my teeth

sometimes my Mama dances in the kitchen

she tells us stories from when she came across the ocean and i think she is brave

she tells me to be quiet at the table

sometimes Mama sings at the top of her lungs, but mostly

she tries to forget, i try to forgive

the same almond eyes, too damp for a spark

monster girls drive in silence to the pharmacy