To Sylvia
       

Mistress of the miserable,
the tormented girl I was
loved you so, your madness

as mutable as the pages
I ripped from Ariel,
The Bell Jar, damaged books

unfit for the library
my contraband, all your
sutured words hidden

under my bed, stashed
like candy, like teen
magazines. I liked

your father rage,
anger I could never
show to mine, your militant

stanzas honed and perfect
as your blond pageboy.
Somehow I thought

you knew me, though
I had no idea
what your madness

tasted like, that shock
of electricity crawling
your spine. You

made it okay to ache
at the fringes of feeling,
to be haunted by a future

that hadn't even started yet.
Even now, a line of yours thrills
as it slashes the thin skin

that keeps my sanity
intact, though you are
mentioned as some

errant punch line, some
talk show host's easy
joke. I know some

girl, some sad girl,
is opening a book
of your lines right now,

and she's feeling
the rigor of your exquisite pain.
pangs of your gassed heart.

Tweet

Copyright © 2018 Allison Joseph All rights reserved
from Corporal Muse
Sibling Rivalry Press/
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission