Carrie

Carrie

This doll
in a paper attic,
rattling delicate
bird wing lungs,
low and slow

Sun shy and struggling
for a winter’s breath
Bedridden, storm of locusts clouding a crackling ceiling
Overgrown garden mind, weeding out trauma,
weaving in new memories

Counting old stitchings,
mouth sewn shut
by default

Counting dust bunny sheep, counting the dull thrum
of a wounded heartbeat

Losing, losing,
crumpled angel wings

Empty beak speak,
silence can seem so deafening

Sleep, sweet,
tomorrow stings
like a scorpion already
underneath
glass blue eyes
forced open
to see clearly
through this web
of gleaned danger
and horrible dreams