baby-button eyes & the witch’s lullaby

-

There is something eerie
about the soft toys and baby dolls
I once found solace in—

almost as if they are
watching me,
whispering curses in my ear
as I slumber—
as if
something—someone—
burrowed in.

Their button eyes glisten
like damp stones in moonlight,
almost blinking,
inching closer (no, closer still),
their silence clotted with motive.

I ache for a lullaby,
but it gurgles in reverse—
a golem in a god’s grip,
imprinted with a witch’s palm.

When did innocence go awry?
When did the doll’s seams begin to fray?
When did hope start to falter—
mould nesting behind princess wallpaper,
the lace of mildew
woven into dream-time?

——

Time, collapsed like lungs.

I find my body curled in a fridge,
knees tucked, frostbitten fingertips—
beside a carton of milk,
curdled, rancid—
expiry date: June 2016.

Door slammed shut—
sealed from within.

——

How to break the hex?
Hazmat men splash blood
on the witch’s dining room walls—
a cleansing ritual,
blood unwriting blood.

But her secret bedroom
is impervious.
All blood that is spilled
dissolves in a second.
All fire that is kindled
is doused without a trace.

I follow mama seraphim
(dew eyes, oak-scented hands)
as we tiptoe into the witch’s den,
to complete the purification
in her hidden chambers.

In the inky lair,
mama’s halo flickers—
she tilts her neck too far,
smile cleaving her face,
then peels her skin,
revealing…

The witch beneath, towering.
Her claws
plucking—
like milk teeth, wiggling—
my baby-button eyes.

Her fangs
bloom like leeches
and sink
into my mellow flesh,
siphoning what life-milk remains
until only shadows
linger.

——

(Crackling, cackling…)

“How can you untether
when your own kin
kneel at my bed-altar?

Heaven will never know you.
My love is like no other. 

Why bother waking from this nightmare
only to slip into another…
skin upon
skin
upon…”

——

A music box twirls,
a June lullaby winds backward
through time…

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