A poem by contributor Elisabeth Horan.
Is it my turn to use them?
I asked, in doe-eyed chin up hopefulness –
Not yet, replied father-fuhrer.
I never really got a chance to play
with them – they were under lock and key
behind the rum, above the crackers
They were shiny, mysterious, like magic:
twinkly, yet smooth of wooden grain.
The smell of pipe and strawberry always
floated about them, then remained.
Daddy and Sissy didn’t know that
I took them out one day.
I snuck them out and ate of them –
skinned each one by lascivious one
with my devilish, thorny, rasping tongue –
Young me, shoved them in my pants;
cried upon their backs:
I love you, Dancing Faerie Queen!
I love you, Freddy Mercury!
Bored stare and low resolution glint
flickering in their multi-faceted
eyes of diamond cut me through – and through
Like they had somehow
seen this coming out of others before me,
like none of this was new –
Still, I behaved.
Promised never to break their arms
and their legs apart
Nor to paint their semi sweet
ribbon mouths lipstick and shut. Or
rip their necks out, like sluts.
But Daddy knew.
Daddy and Sissy knew.
I don’t know how, but they knew.
Didn’t whip me, but bore me a silence; their fear
of me almost worse than their ignorance.
I gave it away in my guilt leaden eyes;
rode astride a glimmer-wave of hope.
That’s how they knew I was all shiny new.
I didn’t cry over so many
little things after.
For I had witnessed,
had learned their secrets –
With blouses open I tasted them as
tarts and berries entranced with
a sexual elixir toward heaven,
or hell – who cares for the compass!
And I loved them.. It was worth
all my lives prior or none in the future –
It was even worth
trading away, in an unplanned way,
Follow Elisabeth on Twitter: @ehoranpoet