When you cut into a stone, do you know what it does to me? I’m part stone, you see, and part emotional memory, I am a banshee, a woman who was hung from a tree, because my husband was fucking another woman and I tried to kill him—
I sit outside your house, with my toaster in my lap and antennae over my head, keeping track of transmissions, listening to the news, hoping for my big break, to come into your house, where I am uninvited, but where I shall invite myself, when the frequencies are right—
I can see her face, the way she turned away that night, under the white moon, and I thought about killing her, the way she smiled at my husband. And I can see his breath, steaming in the night air, walking down our path, in that grey life I led, so rich to me now in the remembering of it I can hardly stand it—
I am getting a transmission. Quarks are emotional creatures too. We use them as companions in our slow deliberate journey through and into spooktown, and our grey goodbyes…
Through your wall. Into your bedroom.
I’m gonna light it up.
Standing over your head.
With my hair on fire—
My eyes alive with holy rage—
Listen and my scream will wake you.
I hope it makes your ears bleed!