How To, page 4
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 walls called art
kept her collages private
intricate and glistening as hidden body parts
her husband stopped having sex with her
she doubted her poetry
because a mean bulimic woman
told her she couldn’t write
she took up african dance and then brazilian
because they honored rather than denied her ass
helped her heal her marriage
and the scars of ballet and anorexia
she danced into the arms of the drummer
they could have been brother and sister
he read her a poem on their first date
she was still married when she made love to him
left her husband almost right away
married again in the hills above malibu
dancing on the crest above the sea
with white flowers in her hair
she gave birth to two children
decorated her house in pink and green velvet
teaches thirteen year olds literature every day
comes home and cooks dinner every night
writes her books on the weekends
the war makes her so mad she needs meds
she’s okay though
her husband still wants her whenever possible
still reads her poetry aloud
she has finally discovered
the brutality is not inside of her
however there are many roses, there are altars,
there are stories
miranda
blonder
stronger
smarter
but motherless
you were easy prey
to monsters
who knows how vile
what they did to you
no wonder you sought out the most beautiful man
as a means of escape
told him your whole nightmare tale
it was not your fault he ran
any girl in your situation needs a friend
after the dollhouse was smashed
but miranda you got off
the island
before it was too late
you gathered your shards your twigs
your surf pounded shells
lipsticks and flower petals a shiny beaded earring
wild parrot feathers
many books
made a nest of words
in which to lay your eggs
your father may burn
his books of magic
and abandon the sprite once locked in a tree
but not you miranda
not you
fairy sisters: for sukha
it was hard to understand what they called reality
babies died
men left
mothers grieved and turned to pills
wars existed
wars?
religion itself
baffled us
even mortality seemed wasteful and ungenerous
inherently imperfect
there was so much to do
that was why we obsessed on pretty things
frozen yogurt or candy
dance and poetry
golden shoes with pale suede platform soles
twinkling necklaces
essence of vanilla and lavender
in a base of wild white sage
and vervain
reminded us of where we had come from
then there were the elf boys
of course we wanted them
desperately
their minds their hearts their seed
they recognized us and made us feel less afraid
but they were lost, too
above ground
needed weed and solitude
instead of so much sugar
kisses
and adornments
the world looks different
without the comfort of soil and roots
the place where flowers are
born
happi happi joy joy and sad in hawaii
happi wanted to take sad to hawaii
happi’s friend had gotten her two free tickets
happi had many friends and they were always
giving her things
happi wanted to see sad basking in the sun
healing the scars on his back
sipping a fruity drink
and watching the sunset on the waves
but sad had never heard that bit of folk wisdom—
if you knew you were going to die tomorrow
wouldn’t you feel stupid for not eating more
birthday cake
or, it should be added, going to hawaii?—
so sad did not go
happi was quite adept at traveling alone
she packed a bikini and some shades and a lovely
printed cotton sundress
and got on the plane by herself
it is important to note that happi had not
experienced any less pain
than sad
she had just learned the lesson about birthday cake
much better than he had
he needed to learn a lot
in spite of his excellent taste in film and literature
and his swooning, crackly-voiced compassion
and as the sun turned the sea into
a tropical mixed drink
and the stars came out above the cabana
happi realized that she would wait for sad
for as long as it took
but that in the meantime she would not stop eating
birthday cake
or traveling to exotic places
or dancing with her friends
pleasure and sweetness and love
yxta
this fairy had been so close to death
she had dined at his long metal coffin-shaped table
and sat on his belly
and he had kissed her charming lips
but then he had let her go
she sang him such sweet songs
about the most devastatingly beautiful
women of history
and she danced so seductively
like a little tibetan goddess with many arms
and also she had this man who loved her so much
so bravely and selflessly
how could death
thus spellbound
take her away?
so the fairy was released from death’s
gripping fingers
and she went back to the man who loved her
so much
and she sang him her songs
and danced him her dances
and when she smiled she showed off
her tiny charming fangs
but the wings were definitely a problem
sprouting from her sharp white shoulder blades
little feathery things
and she tried to pluck them out
because who would take seriously a vampire
with wings?
but they kept growing back
no matter how hard she tried
reminding her of who she really was
and would be for all eternity
titania
somehow there on the street the only two
eyes turned at the same moment mouths dropped
open
titania
on a dirty sidewalk yellow roses angel curls
black rhinestones white wrists
my heart just hours before cracked
so wide by grief
born of fear
in you walked
both of our defenses gone we saw
as if for the first time
and forever
how did we lose each other for so long?
where were you?
at the birth of twin nieces
day and night
on a stage naked and mythic in madonna’s
extensions
you were there
when the planes hit the towers
ran through the city past the people dressed in ash
the panicking cops the silent hospitals
without bodies to be saved
you fell into your sudden lover’s arms
moved back to the country bought a trailer
a loudspeaker so everyone could hear
sat inside with your red lipstick mouth
your cacao bean vanilla voice
talked to everyone heard their stories
it was a little like when you volunteered to massage
rescue workers
the only thing that healed holocaust survivors
they say
was touch and talk
where was i?
having babies
trying to shelter them from 9/11
trying to teach them to live love instead of fear
what was wrong with me?
jealous of your hair your voice your strength the way
you spoke to my man
even as you gave me pastel thong underwear
decked with bows
and told me people like me should have babies
to make the world a better place
titania why
should i be surprised
at what happened?
even the greatest of cities have fallen
to their knees when fear rules
love
and they have been
temporarily at least
reborn
the face
at first your face frightened me
your face was the face of the girl
i’d always wished to be
your face
i thought wrongly
was the face of the girl who never felt pain
if i could have worn a mask
it would have been your face
if i could have had one wish at fourteen
it would have been your face
if i could choose between the gift of words
and your face
i would choose the latter
your face looked the way i felt inside
i understood gossamer and rose petals
light on shallow water
mossy glades and the stained glass
of butterfly wings
but my face was wrong
not mine
not what i felt inside
and you came up to me with that face
and i was afraid
and then you said, thank you
thank you for that story
it was the one about my botched nose job
my acne scars
my face-hate
you looked at me and your eyes had golden
rings like lakes made from compassion’s tears
you came to my house to write with us
you said you were a model
i tensed at the word
afraid of it as if you had said you were
a dog catcher or a cigarette manufacturer
but you brought gifts
bags of silk dresses
sea shells
cherries
your open heart
your wounds
they made you even more exquisite
you said sweet words
sweet as the cherry shape of your mouth
you came again and again
you said kind things to all of us
you brought cushions and fairies and goddesses
you called me part of your star
i look at you sitting on my couch
writing in your journal
your sheath of gold now twisted up
onto your head
with one flick of your wrist
cat eyes blink and kitten nostrils flare
fairy chin and cheekbones
a dryad’s petal lips and eyelids
thank you for taking away my fear
we are not so different little cat goddess
fairy woman
wood nymph
star sister
valentine
my friends stitched it up with golden thread
like a red
satin pillow they gave me other whole ones too
