joanna: wood thorn fairy
skin white roses hair like red
she chose a body that was still small
to help her remember who she really was
she refused to walk
danced everywhere
on solid feet
the men she found could not keep up
staggered and fell
behind
so she waited
skipping down the streets of the big
dangerous citadel
rearranging the silver bells
and cockleshells
and pretty maids in rows
in her apartment near the park
of angels and rapists
birthing books instead
they sat at the table
drinking tea from china cups
with faces and feet
they slept in the white four-poster bed with her
they danced with her in the evenings before the fire
and read her their stories at night
later, she began to give
birth to other things
tiny tables and chairs
made of twigs
acorn beds with mossy coverlets
miniature bouquets of violets
in miniature baskets
life-sized paper dolls with their souls
painted on their torsos
these reminded her of who she was
and kept her happy for a while
until a plane crashed through two towers
and the terrorized
city
burst into tears of flame
he had twinkly
eyes and a gap between his teeth
was a bartender downtown
where bankers and publishers soiréed next door
to the corpses of cows
he poured her a drink and told her
about his paintings
he danced the whole dance with her
and then another and another
loved her soul, her voice, her breasts, her legs,
her skin, her hair
but by now
under the roses her hair was silvery
and her eggs mostly gone
this did not mean a baby
was not possible
they had to feed it
it cried just like a real one
they called it boo and bobo and baby bee
it needed to be suckled and nurtured
read to played with
loved until it grew
and learned to dance
when they lay together in rooms
overlooking the park
the sweetness nestled between them
they remembered the secret green world
they had come from
and knew they could return to it
as only elementals can
they forgot for a moment
that the city was
or ever had been
afire
selene: the dress with the cigarette burns
remember college
did you once wear silk or satin
slips with black boots?
did you once smoke
in the basement of a new haven punk club?
did you ever burn your skirt?
precisely
just so
little holes gaping prettily
around the hem
like mouths?
now you like to curl up at home
sober and barefoot
making little girl dresses
(sunflowers
or ballerinas)
the little girl
you didn’t have but are
is angry at daddy company
where people lie and cheat and steal
she wants to hide inside and sew all day
in a room sea green
with a sphinx machine
she wants to make curtains
long and floaty
to hide her from the world
but selene you will put on
pearl gray suede platform heels
strut in to daddy
in the silver dress you made
slashed with precision
burned with grace
how to become a priestess
pain can destroy or create
once you got in trouble for not wearing your jacket
in the cold
as if he were concerned for your well-being
burning your fingers with his cigarette ash
punching you in the jaw
and raping you on the floor
of the bathroom you had scrubbed for him
now you have fairies scurrying in your garden
drinking from the rhododendrons
spirits hide in the jack-o’-lantern the solstice fir
press themselves flat as dried petals in the books
bring toadstools and feathers for your altar
you have lilies and goddesses
a candle full of secret oils and gems of your intention
you would have used a stick but your friend gave you
an athame sword for divination
sharp enough to kill a father
gretel finds her way
gretel was abandoned by her mother
so she never knew she was beautiful
her eyes simultaneously green as oceans
and red brown as earth
her smile incandescent
her body all lean pale muscle forever dancing
you should have seen her legs
her hands described the air sculptural
and masterful at once
as if the statue came to life to carve itself from stone
but gretel thought herself small and freakish
a goblin
she went into the dark meadow
scattering parts behind
telling herself it was a way to get back
though actually it was a form of slow suicide
her eyes rolled off like marbles
her teeth chattered in the grass
her white hands and feet lay severed ancient artifacts
fragments of a goddess
that someone would then have to resurrect
from their imagination and dreams
oh gretel do not despair
do not stuff the hole in your face
where your pretty mouth once was
with bewitched cake
marzipan gumdrops taffy sugarplums butterscotch
chocolate creams cherry tarts
this will only make you forget for an hour
then you will weep again and your stomach will hurt
no witch wants to shove a child in her oven
and eat it
she would rather have a fertile womb to birth one
kiss it and hug it and feed it wholesome foods
witches are cursed and they are not
so much different from you dear gretel
wandering lost and afraid with your male self
detached from you
just as lost
and your female self grown wicked and insatiable
come here dear i have a thought for you
why don’t you tell us your story
dance it and put it on a stage
with low hung swaying lights
girls and boys dressed for a soirée
in black and white satin tuxedos
red lips and glowing eyes
you do not have to rip off your pretty skin
to show us your innards
when you dance for us
we know that swirling there is chaos and also stars
collage
she used to wear vintage dresses over her bikini
and flip-flops
ride to venice beach to read virginia on the sand
she used to make collages with images of the virgin
mary and roses she used to write poetry
she went to a ballet high
school and could have died
for beauty
not only from the eating disorder
but from the words of the mean mistress
she found her mother on the floor of the bathroom
with a bottle of pills
but still alive
her roommate in college was raped
and brutally murdered
another friend died the same way at a different place
and time
her terror turned into worry
about small things
like the overgrown cuticle on her little toenail
she married an artist and went to clubs
with scrawls on the
