|August 2001 / Volume Two / Issue Two|
|Witches of Eastwood
Within the steamy cauldron
of our suburban garage
my sister and her
have safeguarded themselves
contesting every entrance
of self-hugging delight and self-congratulation.
Ostracism is control.
in the cross paned windows.
with Dugong nostrils
and aquatic eyes
they wear the recognition that comes
before a pitiless spear
I have no shafts to loose
no poisoned entrails to throw.
These soi-disant sacrifices
these pseudo sufferers have stolen the ladle
I cannot divine
They have no stones but if they did
this would be no…
parable of the accused woman, no…
benign yarn about soup.
simple words can be all-powerful incantations
when malice is stay-sharpened
Though they hold dolls
with the conviction that a sister brings
Splinters crack into long icicles
Glass urine tinkles
but it does not pool like lies.
Lies are… shards.
now their mouths are the mouths
of blow-up dolls.
Behind vaporous eyes the possibilities are whirling…
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