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Shotgun-toting Victorian Dames From the Future
by Therese ElaineI speak in a dead language
that marks me as part phantom
all foreign
I am clumsily pronounced
anecdotally muttered
I am constructed from the remnants
of an architecture
that is long buried
under this new breed of homogeneous
engineering
I move with the kind of grace
inherent in the curvature of
Baroque sensibilities
delicately predatory
deceptively intricate
I sound like the threat of sex
and the promise of violence
a bordello blend of impudence
whispered archival benedictions
and goodbyes
I think in ways that pronounce me uncivilized
despite my facile tongue and tinderbox wit
I embrace my carnality with my cordiality
the duality of diplomatic deviance
and solicitous tact
I am more than you will ever know
delighted, disenfranchised and dying
heady, hopeful and hedonistically whole
the sum of my asymmetrical parts is beyond
your particular form of mathematics
I am better than I thought I would be
a resilience born of unintentional cruelties
split-lip scenarios
an amusing form of indignation
no less serious for the smile
I am as I need be
anachronistically advanced and
unashamedly anticipatory
I am structurally unconventional
more interesting than inherently lovely
more fascinatingly femme fatale than
the image of forthright femininity
I eschew rules in favour of reason
and coyness in favour of contempt
I am the one they loved
because I was willing to drive
their getaway car
I am the one they left
because I'm not the girl
they wanted riding shotgun
I am the one that's leaving
because I've had enough of bad bargains
seamy underbelly confessionals
where I am the only one on my knees
and I've run out of absolution
the better to leave now
that I might forever hold my peace
I speak in a dead language
that marks me as part phantom
all foreign
cunningly removed from your records
carefully preserved in your recollections
I speak in a dead language
my own personal memento vivere
and it doesn't matter if you understand me
because it's only necessary
that I remember
my name. 12/24/2009 Author's Note: ...blame it on the cold medicine perhaps?
Posted on 12/25/2009
Copyright © 2025 Therese Elaine
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Rachelle Howe on 12/25/09 at 06:20 PM I wanna chug that! Actually, verbose delirium bleeds, and I am going to start to drink at the beginning and leave some imprints for real. :D |
| Posted by Michael Smith on 01/06/10 at 04:52 AM I thoroughly enjoy your style of writing, Therese, and wonder how much of it is raw talent and how much of it is careful dedication. This poem takes me places -- it divides me and guides me. I can always get behind confidence and a profession of independence and power. Thanks.
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| Posted by Nicole D Gregory on 01/30/10 at 07:45 AM Chick. Its not the cold medicine... its GENIUS!!! When we hang out... we'll both call shotgun and take no prisoners! This is a 2nd for Michael Smith's comments - ransack the medicine cabinet all you want; but know you write great works of art! ~N |
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 01/31/10 at 03:28 AM I'm happy I strolled through your library this evening. This one just satisfied my wanderlust perfectly. I think I appreciate most how you can expand a theme without any sense from this reader of images or examples that seem forced; several alliterative lines that again flow naturally. Very cohesive, long but never too long, which is quite a feat. Just a very nice balance of vocabulary. Sorry I missed this one the first time through. |
| Posted by Tom Goss on 07/27/10 at 05:16 AM Her presence of mind and desire concentrates the vicissitudes of life like a magnifying glass, and every man's heart is merely an ant: fuel for the bonfire. |
| Posted by Ulyss Rubey on 11/16/10 at 04:30 AM "I embrace my carnality and my cordiality
the duality of diplomatic deviance
and solicitous tact"
I wish I could do that. |
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