From Caffeine Destiny
THE PAPER HOUSE
At the edge of the field, we see the angriest bodies.
The spell is in the wrists, in the shampoo. Girls with long throats and a penchant for divining rods. In the end, the house burns beneath the moon opening like a mouth torn out of a book. All our rooms have wants, our wants, broken doors. We smolder beneath dresses, our buttons, our brocade dark. Even now, the mice shred newspapers in attics filled with cages ripped from hooks in parlor walls, in parlors ripped from a woman's skin, all eyelets and hooks.
At the edge of the field, we watched with matches in our skirts.
© Kristy Bowen 2006
At the edge of the field, we see the angriest bodies.
The spell is in the wrists, in the shampoo. Girls with long throats and a penchant for divining rods. In the end, the house burns beneath the moon opening like a mouth torn out of a book. All our rooms have wants, our wants, broken doors. We smolder beneath dresses, our buttons, our brocade dark. Even now, the mice shred newspapers in attics filled with cages ripped from hooks in parlor walls, in parlors ripped from a woman's skin, all eyelets and hooks.
At the edge of the field, we watched with matches in our skirts.
© Kristy Bowen 2006
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