Girl with funhouse mirrors
tacked above her bed,
a row of goldfish on her desk.
Girl with a bathrobe the same
pale green as her soap dish
slipping brass knuckles into her jeans.
Girl with dirt, Girl with a fake
diamond ring for a knife.
Girl with a supervising angel
made from faulty suspension wire.
Girl with a sequined top in a blank
field under an empty barn,
its swinging shutters a soft
peeling red. Girl with a fading
heart and an eraser rubbing it out,
and a score of locals calling off
dogs, on a night in which
the dogs stood silent beside
the half-dug pit. Girl with a girl
inside her, stepping from her
ribcage, severing the silver
cord between body and earth.
The girl from the girl’s body
watches nineteen candles huffed out
at the speed of light. Sees
below where yellow tape waves
in imaginary breeze, as land
tills itself to blanket the aftermath
of a life now covered
with hope and dawn
by a thief in the sky who let this
happen, by a bell-ringer on earth
whom she never heard
coming, who heard her first,
and left her silent, hoping that she
would never be found.
Photo: 19 candles by Matt Grandy