Mystery Girls
Peeking through a lock,
a dim-lit room, dancing candle
wicks, indoor voices to keep
a sleeping house undisturbed
Whispering birds, frail and
sunken-eyed, on a night
where jangling bracelets are
mistaken for bells, and
then taken for wind chimes,
but it’s too still for any of that
China cups rest on the windowsill,
hot tea with extra mint
leaves to read after, when
voices from beyond sink into
anxious bellies, and speak deeply
On a hardwood floor, magazine
cutouts between them, faces green,
hands primrose, pieces of an ancient puzzle
forming the forgotten words
of dead movie actors
They are corporeal on a
flickering screen, corpses
like ours, imitating insomniacs,
mulling over methods
of murdering maniacs, no
morbid curiosity too steep
A key in the eyes of the screaming
starlet, a clue in a dainty
blue shoe
Sweaters pulled tighter, shivers
of excitement, the chill of
the thrill of the kill
Claimed by the conclusion,
added to the colossal collage,
a siren’s solution: leave the
men in the house to succumb
to the eternal sleep
October 8, 2017
Thistle Thoughts 