Sunday, September 2, 2012


Baba Yaga

listen, it's not like you think
those girls? they came to me
they wanted things
gold and jewels and love and everlasting
they wanted my white steed of morning
and my red steed of day
and my black steed of night
my prophetic cat
and my loving dog
and my singing bird
they wanted my house on its claws
because it could walk
they wanted my servants
tied me down to reveal
their invisible forms
and their secret names

the girls beat me and bruised me
and called me crone
they made me listen to them weep
about how lonely and ugly they felt
(they with their long golden hair and skin smooth as glass)
as if my withered face and spotted hands
my empty bed
were irrelevant

yes, i killed them
and used their skulls for lamp posts
with candles burning inside
brighter than their old minds
yes i took their lives
but look at my scars

if you come visit me, pretty one
i'll show you the truth


  1. 17. uproot

    my soul has no dwelling
    my home has been uprooted by greed and
    avarice, you
    hacked at the buttressed roots and pulled out
    the stringy, malnourished cords underneath
    you did not feed us, you
    smothered us and
    stabbed us and
    chopped our limbs, such
    a snuff film
    we have always been unwanted.

    it has been this way since i was a child
    there were no prayers, no
    consolation, only empty words and
    empty ultimatums from empty shells of flesh

    wolves of industry preyed
    upon what we had built with out hands and hearts
    ripped our flowering buds from the ground with
    their pointed teeth
    feasted on our petals
    spat our seeds and let us flail about
    we landed in new spaces, separate
    but always seeking to strengthen sisterhood
    among the strangling weeds.

  2. Belong

    We all belong
    to the dead
    soon enough, dear
    but until then
    gargle that red
    pulse, eat black
    as though cancer
    is anything more
    than an expressway

    Oh, murder you
    say? Of what
    kindness, of health
    or innocence kept
    at the end
    of a leash
    or a whip
    like in beauty
    magazines that don't

    forget the jealous
    and the frightened
    who clothe us
    in their hatred
    of anything different
    as though demons
    planted in childhood
    grew full flower
    grown up mouths
    filled with poison

    But also remember
    cool green mornings
    an orange sunset
    how blue arms
    hold up heaven
    remember open doors
    kind encouraging words
    smooth brown banisters
    and one smile
    just the one
    time is all
    when you belong
    to the living

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  4. ImogenSeptember 4, 2012 8:16 PM

    If Baba Yaga boils me down to my bones,
    is it one more task over and done
    One less thing till I atone

    Twelve steps down from the world above
    Twelve princesses dancing in shoes of blood
    Twelve months passing in the blink of an eye
    Thirteen moons across the sky

    In the belly of a wolf
    In a hundred year dream
    In iron shoes
    In the shape of a tree
    In the fire ash
    In a tattered coat
    With a stolen voice
    With claws at my throat
    With footsteps like knives
    With a cloak of red
    bartered away to
    a monsters bed

    When she chews on my flesh
    and shatters my bones
    swallowing all I have seen
    and have done
    With fingers like claws
    and blood on her teeth
    Oh, wake me, shake me
    remake me please.

  5. Passion lies in the dark waiting to be whisked off its feet
    waiting for the skeletons to create color on empty canvases
    rough, uneven, waiting to be dripping with paint

    in the folds of curtains, plum and velvet
    ghosts dance and wait, patient,
    wanting to return to the light when they could dance
    freely without anyone judging them or
    telling them to go to the white light

    Angels, don’t dance in the dark
    don’t hide the feathers that make you whole
    skeletons weren’t made to be
    without breath, without love.