Dead girls don’t have wishes.
They don’t dream like other girls.
They sit at home, and watch the news;
they talk with speechless familiars.
Watch as the jaded line up for coffee
each morning, eyes downcast
searching the dusky corners for
direction; finding no one.
Didn’t you wish you could
be dead like them? Slender and
unbending to the music:
curled in shadows like spiders,
and weeping for every woe in the world.
Watch as the fading-fast tuck strength away
in silver knots, droplet by droplet,
their prayers lost as spoken:
cast down unknown wells.
Didn’t you ever wander to the bluffs
to look out on the ocean with new eyes? To
drown indifference with ineffable moonlight,
and draw night into your lungs with a long, low stream…
Dead girls don’t swim either.
They float on hot air and sweat clouds.
Watch as the awkward learn to walk
around broken; to stand split apart in the sun.
© 2008 Jade Leone Blackwater
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Thanks to Anita Marie Moscoso for generously inviting (and encouraging) me to share at Anita’s Owl Creek Bridge. I welcome constructive feedback on my writing any time. To learn more about my work, or to contact me via email, please visit me at Brainripples.