A Trinity of Lost Girls Collection
IMOGEN GREBERT
Darling
Ripped nightgowns bound their bloodied feet, carving a path
Through the twigs and thorns. Be the eyes, for no moon penetrates
the trees. Let shadows become a second skin. Keep them guarded.
Good girl; my good Darling.
Be mother, be father, be sister and carer. Read them
Stories of the star to the right, sing them sweet
Tunes, summon the teddy bears hidden under the bed.
Good girl; my good Darling.
Fixed blue bow. Window sills that barely hold dreams.
Keep the smile in place: when did childhood drown in the lagoon?
I am perfect. Am I perfect?
Good girl; my good Darling.
Good girl good daughter good sister good person stop
Good good polite no perfect perfect perfect stop good perfect
Perfect stop tired no give more safe sisters good
Good blessed good perfect lovely perfect good. Stop.
Darling.
La Douleur Exquise
A stranger used to sit at my dinner table. He would call me his
daughter, as if that
should mean anything to me at all. I’m
not sure what he wanted me to feel. But fathers are supposed to
have that magic feeling. He was hollow
to be around like a nest that forgot the sound of wings. I plead and
beg for the sea to come and take him away,
for looking at him scared me. What would he do? Men with all
their make-believe power. The worst of all is a
father's. He called his hidden cruelty love. Silver glinting
attention. The pistol loaded. Nothing but
A body of bones, where he allowed
father to become an absent word on my tongue. Look at him: he
shouldn’t have my eyes or my nose. But he did. And whenever I
turn to him, my stomach churns with unease, like walking the plank
around
and around, this feeling flows. People
say never smile at a crocodile because
the clock will stop ticking, the
phone will hold no name but a barren tone that only
works as a polished reminder of what I do not have. Smelling of
both fresh grass and afternoon whiskey, I couldn’t place him in any memories or
ways. He was only a ghost that filtered in and out of Skull Rock, and
he became a figment of time that had long since passed. If the stars to the right
should fall, he would not be there. Instead, he clings to his ship, thinking of only his
want to be free. Now this stranger is only
to appear in blurred scenes of my life. His unattainable hook of
love around me, a key to a cage, a cage he forgot about. What about
her.
The Things I Never Said
I swallow my words, tuck them away into the darkness of the star to the right.
No one wants to hear them; my pulse battles against my rage.
The bells chime, but I do not move
My seat grips me, unmoving, yet yielding.
Their shadows taunt me in the hallway,
I am a fairy in a web, stuck, watching everything unfold.
Do you see me? Reassure me. Love me. PLEASE LISTEN TO ME FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE.
please …
The scissors they hold in their hands are blunt. My clipped
Wings lay on the floor. They clipped my wings and wondered why I was angry.
…
What would have happened if I weren’t stuck in the shadow of their creation?
Imogen Reinhard, when not staying up late reading books, singing through hallways or baking up a storm in the kitchen, studies a Bachelor of Primary Education and a Bachelor of Creative Writing. She often is locked away in the realms of her debut fantasy novel, wrapped up in the arms of her poetry or wooing over romance story ideas.
