alt. title: narrative cop-outs I am sick of
Something pissed me off today. You get a poem about it.
the value of daughters
So you would write a story
for me to care about.
I will tell you how.
Draw a man. Use ink. Use words if you have them. Shape him out of clay.
Give him a name, so I may remember him. Tell me he is strong.
Give him a child. Make it a daughter
so I know he is a good man. A man who would stay for a daughter
who would teach and love a daughter
even without a son to bind him.
And keep the daughter young. Old enough to smile for the man you created
(for you created a good man)
but years from learning of opinions
or that she could have one, if it won't mess your story
the one I care about.
And give the daughter pretty curls
and tell me she has her mother's eyes
like all good girls do.
Now. Sharpen your blade. The one in your mind
where you keep your story.
Watch reflections in its steel until you see
the daughter of the man you created
for me to care about
then swing fast. Draw a knife, a crowbar,
a bullet to send through pretty curls.
A car with broken lines.
Or create wolves to tear her
or hands to squeeze her throat
or send her piece by piece in boxes to her father
blood soaking down your paper.
Rape her if you must.
But do it all
between panel, chapter, line
behind the easel.
Turn off the camera
so I do not hear the screams
so I do not mistake a daughter
for something that might have become a human being.
Does he cry, the man you created? He should, if you did your work carefully.
(if you created a good man)
Catch his tears in resin
or ink or words or clay
and string them up around him, fancy ornaments like something interesting
for me to care about.
When you begin your story, I will see them
and turn the pages.
And do not wonder for the daughters.
They hit the ground no harder than their sisters
trampled into dirt or sold for pieces
or left behind before their mother's milk has dried
or drowned or starved or oil burning down their backs
names listed at no grave site.
Those daughters drawn in blood and bone
not ink not words not in a father's tears
unless that father is a good man.
--------
Crossposted from Dreamwidth, where there are
comments.
the value of daughters
So you would write a story
for me to care about.
I will tell you how.
Draw a man. Use ink. Use words if you have them. Shape him out of clay.
Give him a name, so I may remember him. Tell me he is strong.
Give him a child. Make it a daughter
so I know he is a good man. A man who would stay for a daughter
who would teach and love a daughter
even without a son to bind him.
And keep the daughter young. Old enough to smile for the man you created
(for you created a good man)
but years from learning of opinions
or that she could have one, if it won't mess your story
the one I care about.
And give the daughter pretty curls
and tell me she has her mother's eyes
like all good girls do.
Now. Sharpen your blade. The one in your mind
where you keep your story.
Watch reflections in its steel until you see
the daughter of the man you created
for me to care about
then swing fast. Draw a knife, a crowbar,
a bullet to send through pretty curls.
A car with broken lines.
Or create wolves to tear her
or hands to squeeze her throat
or send her piece by piece in boxes to her father
blood soaking down your paper.
Rape her if you must.
But do it all
between panel, chapter, line
behind the easel.
Turn off the camera
so I do not hear the screams
so I do not mistake a daughter
for something that might have become a human being.
Does he cry, the man you created? He should, if you did your work carefully.
(if you created a good man)
Catch his tears in resin
or ink or words or clay
and string them up around him, fancy ornaments like something interesting
for me to care about.
When you begin your story, I will see them
and turn the pages.
And do not wonder for the daughters.
They hit the ground no harder than their sisters
trampled into dirt or sold for pieces
or left behind before their mother's milk has dried
or drowned or starved or oil burning down their backs
names listed at no grave site.
Those daughters drawn in blood and bone
not ink not words not in a father's tears
unless that father is a good man.
--------
Crossposted from Dreamwidth, where there are
comments.