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Poetry Journal |
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Gretel
Sieannen Bell "In the Spirit House, women are singing Their voices are like the silent laughter of cats." -Charles DeLint from Tapu'at House Lost like the girl in that story lost like these words caught in my throat. She is creeping through the woods singing singing a lullabye to the sneaking shadows. Dont let her fool you She's got the map, she's got the stars, even the runestones are hidden beneath a dirty dress and even dirtier hands. She is making for the border She is hoping to be gone by dawn. Don't let her make you cry because she's got moves you've NEVER seen and she's willing to dance willing to play it that way, but for a price. She whispered to me once that every muse is an asassin with a pretty face and... here... she... goes... again... She's an innocent child She's Ophelia buried in the river bed But look, boy, look real close: she's got blood under her pretty pink fingernails and a lashing tail(calico no less) under that soiled dress. Sieannen Bell lives in the backwoods of nothern Pennsylvania with her three year old daughter and too many cats. She practices the the profession most commonly known as Starving Artist. In the past she has toured the country gypsy-style, but she now prefers to do all her Starving at home in the woods. For those of you concerned with her religious affiliation she firmly believes in god, her muse, and the everlasting salvation found in whiskey, sex, and rain. She has been previously published in Stirring, Eclectica, The Breath, Megaera, etc. She is the ediotr of the online journal, The Divine Animal. |