Wet Bird (Poetry)

What was Her Name?

They called her
Perfection
Fingernails engraving
Wedding rings
Whispers trapped behind
Her soft throat
Summon her
And she will rise
From your bed
To tear the
Cobwebs
From your ceiling
And scrape the
Blood
From the wallpaper
She keeps you
Warm
And tells you
How wonderful
You are

They called her
Radical
Her claws cracked
From warfare
Jewelry melting over
The gas stove
Ripping her
Neck open
And letting her
Whispers spill
Into screams and
Hidden wisdom
She will never be
Silent again
Do not summon her
Because she will rise
From the ashes of
A thousand fallen sisters
Making you watch her
Bury the dead
That you left to rot

They called her
Reality
Gripping your hand tight
Sweat squeezed through
Intwined fingers
As you flee
From those who think
They know you better
Than you know
Yourself
She looks at you
Touches your face
Smudging dirt and
Blood
And you boil
Your insides churn
With anger and
Energy
As you see revolution
In her eyes
That flicker
In and out
Of dying

They called her
Terror
Story books stapled
Shut
Skin scaled and
Hair serpentine
Eyes sharp like
Ticking clocks
And breath fogging
The mirrors
With full truths
And half riddles
Climbing under your
Bed
Hiding in the box
Of memories
Forgotten there
The baseball cards
And gum wrappers
That wrote your story
She keeps them safe
For you to find
And weep
For the life
That you'll never
Have again