Spring 2012 • Vol. XXXIV No. 2 PoetryApril 1, 2012 |

The Dead Girls Speak in Unison

We haven't made any progress. When the auditor comes for us, we'll hold out our hands, full of fly casings, pollen spurs. We've had nothing to eat but our own hair for the last dozens of years. We're strung in the gut, catgutted, glutted. We smell of mutton. Plaintive, you want another chance to hold one of us to your throb-sick chest. You want to freeze, but to plow your face deep into her coffin. And in there a world. You think you can live harnessed to her decaying nightdress; you think you can live on hair and rue? Then here is our welcome mat woven from the wig of your maiden voyage.

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Danielle Pafunda’s poetry collections include the forthcoming Manhater (Dusie Press Books) and Iatrogenic: Their Testimonies (Noemi Press). She was a finalist for the 2011 National Poetry Series.

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We haven't made any progress. When the auditor comes for us, we'll hold out our hands, full of fly casings, pollen spurs. We've had nothing to eat but our own […]

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