Plaintive Attacks

November 14, 2016


Instead of looking at her
as if she’d thrown her hair
into the fire,
ask yourself why
she’s dangling from
a chandelier of words.
See if you understand
the lines of gunpowder
she’s been snorting. The burn in her throat
lifting off with wings of sulphur
You see nothing.
You care nothing for
her crackling eyes
that plead for a lie dry as cotton.
She’s just a doorway to you,
something to step through,
to bow out from.
Air in a vague shape
with bones of wood to hold it up.
Wake up.
She’s holding the scissors,
running, crab-like
towards you

Valentina Cano

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