carving stories

Heidi Heimarck

we carve stories onto the precious tusks of our children
the day Susie fought off the Invisible Man
then pushed our car into the lake
strapped in we cried out
betrayed
she was no different from mad Medea of old

Farrah invents a bushy-haired stranger
Shauna’s DOA a small sacrifice so she can run away with Ryan
there is no fleeing in a golden chariot driven by dragons
only hope of being released on parole

the after-game shower with Coach
whose soul mission is to help the kids
whose sole mission is to get away from where they are
mom and dad who don’t understand
a dangerous combination
soul on sole
teamed up for years until someone told

little girls who dress like little teens disappear through basement windows
skeletal remains in garbage bags kept warm by a favorite blanket

Cindy reports her granddaughter missing and all are deemed innocent
except of course the Invisible Nanny who never existed

get on your knees and pray she tells her son
because you are going to heaven
and she must of course kill his little friend and the two dogs as well
because they are all filled with evil
or is it just that her husband works too much

if you drown your five children in the tub
after years of crying for help
you are found not guilty by reason of insanity

these ones love their neighbor as themselves and go home to beat their children
whose bones crawl out from the grave
looking for the ascension
that might never come

each story etches another picture onto the cage
that protects my heart

they are ancestors to us all

celebrating creative women


Lois-adjusted2

In honor of my mother, Lois, who was one of the most creative women I’ve ever known. This journal highlights women who can’t help themselves; those who must write, who must sing, who must sculpt, who must act, who must constantly respond to her muse.

“We hear you. We see you. You are suis generis!”


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