From Marjorie Gosling
Most days, my creative voice takes the shape of a demon,
Emerging from the creeping most to trace
The outline of my cheek,
Brittle fingernail slowly drawing across my skin.
Yellow eyes gleaming with hunger and lust,
Dank breath rendering me captive,
My demon helps me undress, and shows
Me how to peel back my breasts
How to unhinge my ribs, one by
Together we stare at my exposed
Redness, the push pull of my lungs & the
Vague rattle of my voice box.
Slowly, the demon reaches in and cups my
Heart; sighing as if in peace,
As if in relief. Then it pulls itself inside of me and rests against my spine,
Running hands along the lines inside of me,it falls asleep.
Morning sweeps to afternoon to evening's
Falling and stars appear
As I stand under oak trees,
Grass against my ankles and ribs flung
Open like an empty
Bird cage and the demon
Once true night has set,
Black as squid ink,
My demon wakes & stretches,
Wiping it's face like a small child.
Smiling and unkempt, it
Steps out of me and
Begins to put me back together.
Ribs interlocking once more,
Skin stitched together with hair from my head
My clothes, dewy & stiff, are awkwardly slid over limbs & I have to
Lean against the demon for support.
As my hand brushes its
shoulder, I feel the transformation that the day had brought,
No more flaking scales
No more brittle bones
Warmth spreading from its skin to mine,
A fuzzy halo of blond curls bounces as it leans down to put my socks & shoes on.
It stands & eyes meet.
Hazel to hazel,
And if you ask me today,
My creative voice is me as a child,
Mischievous and curious,
Painting along my spine and sleeping next
To my heart.