Weekly Selection – Amy Lawless

Baker’s Daughter

“They say the owl was a baker’s daughter. Lord, we know what we are, but know not what we may be.” Ophelia, Hamlet

No! I am not Ophelia.

O yeah, I lay with a crazy
But it was just for one night

Among him as his own
To sing a boding song, wave a tender bone.

I fed the meter, built a bridge,
Grabbed a honey, pumped the midg’.

Alack, the smack of truth.

The prince did insert his fangs into my back
And then, ok, ok, you were right!
It all went black!

But tremble I did not. My father lives
Don’t have a brother and I never will
Let my flesh stink to high heaven
Cover it with a wreath homemade
And expect it to do the job of Glade

(from Amy Lawless’ Noctis Licentia, p. 67)


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Filed under Amy Lawless, Poetry

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