Thursday, June 5, 2008


She was already dead, you see.

She did it just to get away

From the heavyness of men in their certainty

And the brittle, tight smiles of efficient women.

She could mine as much love from a wall or a rock,

So she lay down in the gentle earth

And whispered to the roots of violets in the moonlight.

But sometimes,

When young girls come to smoke behind the headstones,

She will open up her bones and release

The Big and Little Dippers,



And all the rest--

To take a turn as if it were some ballerina's birthday.

The young girls are the only ones who see it;

They squint and smile and say,

Fuckin' right

And flick their butts across the lawn

Like little





Cynthia said...

A haunting piece, sad, the feelings
that were inside this young girl,
true, and her way of dealing with
the pain.

Fireblossom said...

Thanks for reading, Cynthia. I had hoped you would find this one.

Nathan1313 said...

I like this very much. It has the quality of a mythic story "When young girls come to smoke behind the headstones..." Lots of great lines here.

Fireblossom said...

Thank you, Nathan. And welcome to Word Garden!