PHANTOM LABOUR PAINS

"PHANTOM LABOUR PAINS" by Arianna

i think she’d be scared of me, that daughter I will never have 

after all, i took all her bones—snapped them into twin twigs

split her teeth like rice crackers

picked berries with her blood vessels twisted around the stems

she is the old doll hanging from the dilapidated telephone pole

carcass cracked plaster—just a cheap excuse for wrinkles—

and beady button eyes that never close

i think she’d spot me from way up high and begin to scream.

she’s always five years old, and she’d hate that—being trapped at an age so powerless

as it is obsolete, caged in the illusion of wanting to grow up

i’d slip something into her milk so she would stop growing

so her calves stay shrinking and her mind stays pure. she’d grow to detest the rotting under the sink

all these bugs casting shadows on pink walls

all the dirt I tread in after coming back from my midnight walks

she’d hide in the kitchen cupboards and watch a garish creature

with hungry red lips and pink candy skin and fingers that click pale with callouses

stretch itself taunt on the linoleum floor.

in her heart she’d grow old, and sit straight-backed staring at a grinning visage

her clipboard clutched between long nails, not sharp talons

and my daughter will mumble, not speak—what is wrong with me?

and the woman, in all her fabricated wisdom, will respond—a leaf falls where it falls, pinching 

the skin of an orange between her yellowing front teeth

and my pickled daughter will remember, softly then loudly like an old record player, of the creature—

the ruined back littered with burns

the bones shaved off and limbs twisted with a gleeful grin

braids pulled tight by naked fingers

and feel the beautiful weight in her stomach harden into stone.