Myths and Fairy-Tales and Bags

I haven’t felt very inspired to write today, so I had to push myself a little. The result was a rather heavy, bulky poem that reflects a lot of my wishful thinking. Especially the bit about the carpet bag – hell, I’ve been wanting a carpet bag ever since I first read the Mary Poppins series as a child! So, I suppose this is a “subtle” hint for people wanting to buy me birthday presents. Anyway, without further ado:

(DAY 2)


Photograph via the Costica Acsinte Archive
Photograph via the Costica Acsinte Archive


When you took me in I was a name and a face –
you knew nothing of the contents of my carpet bag,
even though you could see it was a tattered little thing,
shedding its flower motifs one by one, incontinently.
You didn’t ask me where I came from, or who my parents
were, or which parts of my soul I had been obliged
to sell for a living. You were my kind Bluebeard
for a while, and I, your inconsolable Lilith.
But all secrets have an incubation time, and sooner
or later they hatch, cracking skulls and rib cages
wide open, undoing stitches, spilling inelegantly
and with an inconsiderate sense of entitlement.


You took your scissors to my bag after a while,
when I had carelessly left you alone with it.
I found my bundled thoughts strewn all over
the place, and you poring over them with greed
and without affection. You had inspected
all my skins, sniffed all my perfumes. You had
an aversion to locks and keys and zippers,
you excused yourself. But it was too late by then.
I took my teeth and claws to you, flayed you,
carved you – you were my finest work of art.
I made a briefcase of your belly, and buttons
of your teeth. I crocheted your hair into flowers,
knitted your veins into a blanket, made a flask
of your bones. I left your ghost to wander
through the house where I had been your guest,
but took all else and went to find a host
with more words and fewer fears.

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