from As in Judy
© Rosie Garland, 2016
She combs her
hair long, a black sheet
to cover the new mouth at the back
of her neck, where angry stories leak out.
At night, its whispers drag
her from her bed and into the heart
of the city. She grins a slice of moon.
Her new lips smack, demand
scarlet lipstick, wine, the sweet breasts
of women and the hearts of men.
She roars in alleyways, throws away
the keys, laughs loud as a bucket
hauled up from life’s well.
Her prince comes. She needs rescue
from the witch’s curse.
He carries knives to shear her hair
and ram it down her throat, deep.