shanlizpoeming-blog

[shanlizpoeming-blog]

A Differnt Swan Lake

The swan won’t see my face

if I stay startled, scared—

The moonlight: all doubts.

His throat: the shape he seized.

Disbelieving his dream, wild

and furious, he struck, taking over

the dancer’s legs, demanding

I wanted the part of him that bled.

//

//

[Found poem. Source material: Andrews, V. C.. Flowers in the Attic. New York: Gallery Books, 2014. 336-337. Print.]

[shanlizpoeming-blog]

The Children Live in This One

You drive back and forth

tired of being

in a room, a house. You come

through the door to kill

the moment you believe in

your thin body, wanting

small living babies. Tell me

a story: a fantasy world

where children live another year

with cake and ice cream—every day,

so easily pleased, loved, wanted.

//

//

[Found poem. Source material: Andrews, V. C.. Flowers in the Attic. New York: Gallery Books, 2014. 166-169. Print.]

[shanlizpoeming-blog]

Jealous God

To see his dancing, recall

your first few mistakes, any

mistakes you made. You came

to bless God, punish us. Father

would have punished you—

deformed, damned beautiful

face, palms taking all this

adored dark earth. You are

going to need small rituals

to get you through, stones.

Lay down. Trust me. Just

open and be choked, as if

kissed too much and jealous.

//

//

[Found poem. Source material: Andrews, V. C.. Flowers in the Attic. New York: Gallery Books, 2014. 97-99. Print.]

[shanlizpoeming-blog]

The Bird Man

He came out of dreams,

Sticks making holes in teeth

And he appeared in magic,

deliberately. We wrote him

Lists of things we wanted:

A red nightgown, long hair,

Candy-green robes, children—

Divine because forbidden.

It was pure, that mouth

full of brightly colored birds.

//

//

[Found poem. Source material: Andrews, V. C.. Flowers in the Attic. New York: Gallery Books, 2014. 171-173. Print.]

[shanlizpoeming-blog]

we kept every meal

& knelt when we wanted.

Voices told the world to despair

in private. We grew horrific,

a token, a flaw, anything less—

Yellow chrysanthemums

in the late afternoon: small, bright.

Just like it never happened.

//

//

[Found poem. Source material: Andrews, V. C.. Flowers in the Attic. New York: Gallery Books, 2014. 169-170. Print.]

[shanlizpoeming-blog]

I’ll Be Back Soon

It was a lovely gown, bodice.

Hair down, bare toes.

Swelling in the doorway—

Dragon’s head, the mouth

Where all drawbridges climbed

the man below. A slipped hand,

A father: touchstone, talisman.

//

//

]Found poem. Source material: Andrews, V. C.. Flowers in the Attic. New York: Gallery Books, 2014. 191-192. Print.]

[shanlizpoeming-blog]

In the mornings it scares me:

A small voice inside being

Whipped, half-undressed.

Agaisnt us. Justified in a way.

Yet, One place is dangerous,

Skins on the floor. My breath

Pulled in a room, a chamber

Covered. And I threw myself.

/

/

[Found poem. Source material: Andrews, V. C.. Flowers in the Attic. New York: Gallery Books, 2014. 316-317. Print.]

[shanlizpoeming-blog]

Somebody was screaming

Somebody was screaming—

yowls cried up six steps

In white pajamas. Every night,

His teeth caught beneath

The wire and when he turned,

A foot broke in half. He washed.

the blood from his hands

//

//

[Found poem. Source material: Andrews, V. C.. Flowers in the Attic. New York: Gallery Books, 2014. 264-265. Print.]

[shanlizpoeming-blog]

He’d Been Starving

Trembling, uncertain, a stranger

moved to cover something

He’d been starving in the closet

like a child caught. Afraid of

My heart, I stammered: You look

beautiful. How did you grow

without clothes? Vulnerable, I felt

a zipper, his eyes. Some weapon

Shot. I just stood there.

//

//

[Found poem. Source material: Andrews, V. C.. Flowers in the Attic. New York: Gallery Books, 2014. 223-224. Print.]

[shanlizpoeming-blog]

Bored, God Already Knew

With skin, bones, new clothes

To eat with cream, he looked

Bored. God already knew

Other bodies well—clean,

Smelling lukewarm and

Milk, an abysmal mother,

Prowled for the door—

An animal in terror.

//

//

[Found poem. Source material: Andrews, V. C.. Flowers in the Attic. New York: Gallery Books, 2014. 73-74. Print.]

[shanlizpoeming-blog]

What They Forced

A strong arc, holding skirts

Made of ribbons, fruit:

Citrus, grapes, peaches—

Would wash her down

In that blue vase, then

He’d bury his face

After. Gliding anchor,

We felt half-sick, longing

For skin, windblown

Since father died.

//

//

[Found poem. Source material: Andrews, V. C.. Flowers in the Attic. New York: Gallery Books, 2014. 113-114. Print.]

[shanlizpoeming-blog]

Sunlight Wearing Clothes

I know you approve

Of my un-neat body

Bare and aroused

Too soon. There were

Windows but shuttered

Over and locked. The sunlight

Chattered wearing clothes

To bruise shins. I enjoyed hands

Coats, suits—all insane terror

I prayed over again and again.

//

//

[Found poem. Source material: Andrews, V. C.. Flowers in the Attic. New York: Gallery Books, 2014. 146-148. Print.]

[shanlizpoeming-blog]

Garden Children

I wanted him wanted

Ivy leaves turned yellow

All morning light and

Small fists against oak

Trying to kick down

The garden Children

Stripped and sunbathed.

//

[Found poem. Source material: Andrews, V. C.. Flowers in the Attic. New York: Gallery Books, 2014. 144-145. Print.]

[shanlizpoeming-blog]

Ghosts in the Dining Hall

True to her word,

Underneath the panels,

Long and sparkling,

Her God moved. I used to

Hide and slip unseen to watch

Then wander out into the hall.

We were secreted—chandeliers

Suspended from a ceiling. The women,

Like a movie, dressed bearing amber

Punchbowls large enough to bathe in.

It was so good. I felt so hungry,

Laid out like reflecting glass.

//

Found poem. Source material: Andrews, V. C.. Flowers in the Attic. New York: Gallery Books, 2014. 182-184. Print.]

[shanlizpoeming-blog]

Your Choice

I just stood there, unholy

Naked, done wrong. She

Left me quivering. A wild

Making to punish us. I

Knew it. The key she

Bore when cutting.

I’m going to cut to the scalp.

She looked at me, held

One of the chairs. I was

Unclothed. It was all my fault.

\\

Found poem. Source material: Andrews, V. C.. Flowers in the Attic. New York: Gallery Books, 2014. 224-226. Print.]

[shanlizpoeming-blog]

Paper Flowers

Did he hate me, trying to save

My hair. I’d slam the door, lock it

And he’d come forward, caught

On top of me. His hands, fingers,

Open at my wound. God. I was

so scared. I thought they’d see

the blood, his knees, the paper

Flowers in my throat.

//

Found poem. Source material: Andrews, V. C.. Flowers in the Attic. New York: Gallery Books, 2014. 303-304. Print.]

[shanlizpoeming-blog]

Shame Feast

I have broken a stone

in my chest. Carefully, I hide

my eyes, my hair, his hands.

I would take all of this with me. I said,

You would make a pretty

good theif. Now summer,

soon August, would set in—

I wouldn’t eat them.

That meal was over.

//

Found poem. Source material: Andrews, V. C.. Flowers in the Attic. New York: Gallery Books, 2014. 329. Print.]