Oracle

I was always drawn to the body of a girl bent at odd angles. She had something to tell. Listen carefully & you can hear the cap of a nit opening & the suckling louse against the root of your baby’s hair. You tell her if she is very quiet, she can hear the moonquake. Criminal child, delinquent girl, She is an opus, her mouth a moth fluttering with recriminations, wings singed in the cleansing fire of hate. Come join the legion of little others, thrown on the heap once she dares utter her hidden words. Specters walk in the flames of the oven. See how she glows with power but does not burn.