I filled a wedding dress with bones--
My bones.
My...
Well all right, so I stole the dress.
I wanted to be a sweet confection,
So that you would want to wrap me in fluted paper
And place me in the perfect box of delicate pale cardboard
As if I had been born into the palm of your hand
To stand there and be
Witheringly beautiful.
But, darling, my whiteness is that of punishing northers, cracked ice and frostbite--
Not sugar frosting...
Not purity...
Unless, naturally, you mean the purity of my disappointment at your revealed ordinariness.
Sir,
I have fleshed myself with everything sharp I could find.
Don't look so pale, as if you'd seen a ghost!
Invite me to dance, and if your hair falls out from the roots, or your heart stops, then it does.
Come, risk something.
I'm just a girl,
What could happen?
It's the least you could do for your bride.
_______
for One Shot Wednesday #36
Ah, marriage. Stolen dress, boxed selves and risk averse partners who don't like being poked by bones. I'm thinkin divorce. If he lasts that long.
ReplyDeleteDelightful and stiletto sharp, so you hardly feel the blade.
oh but i might just risk that dance just to feel the fire...i didnt need that hair anyway....
ReplyDeleteIf you were a sweet confection in fluted paper, I can tell you this.
ReplyDeleteThere certainly would be no need to have that map-like diagram on the bottom of the box.
The tastiest treat would be quite obvious!!
I read your poetry and I always see it performed somewhere by someone wickedly delicious
ReplyDeletethis time Helena Bonham Carter
I love it. Withering beauty, cracked ice and frostbite, and the faint sound of a stiletto heel being tapped smartly into the groom's head:)
ReplyDeletethe northern winds-- witches and bitches and frosty brides-- lots of fun; i love the fluted paper and the touch of the macabre: thanks for the catharsis...xxxxj
ReplyDeleteAloha from Hawaii
ReplyDeleteComfort Spiral
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There is a myth about about a womans bones...now I have to find it...your writing reminded me so of this....do you know it? Nice writing Shay...bkm
ReplyDeleteThe invitation to risk, what a lovely one and certainly worth the risk!
ReplyDeletexoxo
weasel-friend
Before a ceremony at an undisclosed location a bride stands scratching her head wondering hey where's my dress, as groom scratches bald scalp.
ReplyDelete"But, darling, my whiteness is that of punishing northers, cracked ice and frostbite--" Chillingly in many ways. Love how it challenges the gentleman it adDRESSes at the end.
'Unless, naturally, you mean the purity of my disappointment at your revealed ordinariness.'
ReplyDeleteI loved the entire piece, but this line was my favorite!
A declaration of self awareness and self respect. This is me. I like me. There. Terrific, Fireblossom!
ReplyDeleteFB - you combine beauty and coolness. Nice one shot!
ReplyDeleteA feral matrimonial, fer sure ... you do an excellent job whiting out the old purities with white fury. I daresay you're married enough to the vatic mob. - Brendan
ReplyDeleteand with a feathery hammer, an offering to bliss
ReplyDeleteI like this
Peace, hp
and with a feathery hammer, an offering to bliss
ReplyDeleteI like this
Peace, hp
Bald guys are still sexy, right?
ReplyDeletenice play between expectation and frustration...hope he risked it..
ReplyDeleteI hope he's man enough for her, but something tells me he can't handle an ice witch like this one. Chilling poem, and sharp as an icicle.
ReplyDeleteRaven and I had the same favorite line!
ReplyDeleteNice snarl and bite! :)
ReplyDeletePadmavani
damn fine work my friend...
ReplyDeleteI don't really have words to tell you how I felt about this. It's too stunning for words. So good.
ReplyDelete"As if I had been born into the palm of your hand..." Nice line. Hopefully, he'll take a risk or two for you :)
ReplyDeleteReally enjoyed reading this...would you care to dance?
ReplyDeleteAahh..deliciously dark, Shay!! And so very alluring.. well, at least to the keen reading eye...
ReplyDeleteI hope he takes that risk.. I am sure it'll be worth it..
I did not appreciate your smart ass comment about my poem about the little girl asking Mom about death. If you can't be civil or thoughtful, you need not make insensitive comments. In other words, Piss Off.
ReplyDeleteTiger Windwalker
^^^Dear Windpasser,
ReplyDeleteLike most blowhards, you can dish it out, but you don't much like taking it. You go around making your lengthy, pompous, clueless comments at other people's blogs, notwithstanding that you have utterly no writing talent whatsoever. Your "poetry" is hilariously bad. So I pricked your ego. It needed it.
"If you can't be civil, Piss Off ??"
ReplyDeleteIsn't that an oxymoron? Or maybe just a moron.
Stolen wedding dresses line the halls of a museum in Khartoum. I flew there once in a Harry Chapin tune.
ReplyDeleteDamn snow -- Don't they have post offices in San Antonio too?? :)
xoxo to you, my still-favorite poet.
Mmmm...I found your comment almost as interesting as your poem. I have no talent for poetry myself, but I enjoy yours.
ReplyDeleteThat Babbitt..he won't risk it for a shard of ice,I'm afraid. Keen write!
ReplyDeleteGay
I wish my mother was alive to read this. You just described her marriage to her first (of four) husbands. I mean Zing!
ReplyDeleteI like reading others' comments to you and sure am glad I didn't miss the little exchange between you and the Windbag. :0
A great verse.. and nice emotional ride.. I enjoyed it. So raw and strong... thanks for sharing...
ReplyDeleteॐ नमः शिवाय
Om Namah Shivaya
http://shadowdancingwithmind.blogspot.com/2011/03/whispers-memories-from-living.html
At Twitter @VerseEveryDay
Spiky, wonderful use of sparse line breaks/language. Uber-effective.
ReplyDelete