How To, Francesca Block [sight word readers TXT] 📗

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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