Lizzy Borden

As I was walking amongthe footlights of Hell,
I was delighted bywhispers of angels speaking
backwards. I collected some of the words,
just as I collected the rings from the fingers
of the dead at Daddy's mortuary, all jangling
and sparkly in a jar.  Shame is pride's shawl.
Daddy was a frugal man. He'd cut off the feet
of corpses so they'd fit in the cheaper coffins.
My stepmother was a corpulent mess, eating
butter with everything: butter, butter, butter.
He who wants but does not, breeds vermin.
My father killed all my pidgeons wtih a hatchet.
Their heads floated like baubles in the black blood
which blotted the opalescence of their plumage.
The busy bee has no time for tears.
I run my toes through the coals and think
of happiness, of the mewling of God and
bladderwort, bluebottles-- stains on my stockings.