Marionette - Cheryl Townsend

 

WE'LL CALL HER A STEREOTYPE

White ruffles enhance red
Tethered in a slouch of
anticipation and angst
Zombie eyes stare
with macabre grin
She waits for deft hands
to wave her into life
Magical transformation
of chiseled & adorned
Subservient even in
this day of high liberation
A prosthetic appendage
ignored in the shadows
Presented only to perform
Inanimate without use
Like a sweater on a doorknob
or a flag without wind
A question to be answered
just left to hang aloof
But if you pull the right strings
you can - just maybe - make her dance

Cheryl Townsend

 

SYLVIA PLATH HIDES IN MY OVEN

She whispers to me when
I turn out the lights
Says it's nice in there
darker than out & quieter
She says the mind wanders
& nothing reels it back in
It can just go forever, get lost
but always finds its way back
She tells me it's softer
the metal transforms to down
and the temperature is always
the perfect sleeping cool
She entices me with
her poetry saying that it's
so much more prolific
tucked inside where she is
She leaves the door ajar
an invitation to infamy
Poor gal
I haven't the heart to tell her
I'm in an all electric home

Cheryl Townsend