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Picture

American Eurydice

never got / a wedding night / got her name / on the invite / then the tombstone / got a white dress
/ got a shroud / flowers in her / hands became / flowers on her grave / some say she / was chased
/ she was running / from that / famous asshole / dead / and running / and hungry / she got sick /
or she fell down / on the highway / called out / O Persephone / flowers and flame / goddess of
the diner
/ stand by me / Persephone / took pity / took her hands and / showed her / the faithless
twilight / of the American dream

This is a remix poem.
Source: McGuire, Seanan; The Girl in the Green Silk Gown, pgs. 207 & 208.

things the body never forgets

the green silk gown (I miss that dress)
the wrong side of town (a minute to midnight—the spell
            would never end)
my mother was trash and so was I (puberty brought me
            the breasts)
sweeping floors (splinters in my fingers)
the benefits of being dead (at least I didn’t grow up)
a shitty little house in Michigan (it isn’t even there
            anymore)
a man of my own to hit me (the way my father used to
            hit my mother)
until I snap and burn the place down (one potential
            escape)
girls like me don’t get happy endings (the sharp shock
            of glass slicing flesh)
This is a remix poem.
Source: McGuire, Seanan; The Girl in the Green Silk Gown, pg. 159.

Not all monsters are strangers.

When they find her lovely body they feel a pang
of regret. But they say she should have known
the dangers of hitchhiking. A girl is a gun, they
say. A teenage runaway is a knife. A magnet
for cock and trouble. So easy to hurt. Now
she’s just a dead junkie by the side of the
road. Never even made it out of town.

This is a remix poem.
Source: McGuire, Seanan; The Girl in the Green Silk Gown, pg. 94.

Siren County

      a Halloween            family
                      in a swamp.        The                      daughter
       drowned.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
                                                                       hear  the ghost                   girl
                     say    “Help me, Mommy.    I can’t get out!”

This is an erasure poem.
Source: Chad Lewis - The Siren Bridge.

Jessie Lynn McMains is a poet, writer, and publisher. They were the 2015-2017 Poet Laureate of Racine, WI, and currently write a reoccuring column for Pussy Magic. They are the author of multiple chapbooks, most recently The Girl With The Most Cake and forget the fuck away from me. You can find their personal website at recklesschants.net, or follow them on Tumblr, Twitter, and Instagram @rustbeltjessie

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