Dissection of a Darling

1. 

You kicked like an ass, 
bony knees and elbows flailed, 
trapped inside my cage. 
We both wanted you 		out.  

You didn’t rock-a-bye, 
               peek-a-boo, 
                      patty-cake. 
You couldn’t carry a note to sing the rain, rain go away. 
You crushed Georgie Porgie. 
You kissed, then bit, his girls. 
You cooed and cawed, my wretched dove.
Everyone cried but you, 	       Baby.
 
Your cradle was fragile. 
It did fall.
You glued the shards into a grudge, 
buried them under the rug, 
smothered their flecks into flame.

While the pyre blazed, 
I prayed: 
                   for night to behave, 
                   for the drapes to shroud the moon, 
                   for sleep to swallow you whole.

I didn’t think to ask for a miracle.

 
2. 

Your face came out that way. 
Your face, only a mother could—


3. 

You had a head 
of hair. 
You pulled     	it taut. 

My vain, vain angel!

You pulled 	        on
my hair, 
          my nose, 
                 my lips.

You pulled 	  every bit of 	me
a	    part.


4. 

You severed my 	          left nipple 		
from my 		          left breast. 
Without teeth, your lips were razors. 

My   	flesh, the 
                first 
                flesh you 
                felt in your 
                filthy little 
mouth. 

It 

left you the taste 
for blood, 
not love.


5.

One time, 
you laid on my knee. 
You dreamt of darkness, 
howling wind,
drowning the God-
forsaken ghouls.

Oh, my devil darling, 
what have you seen 
behind those dim eyes? 

Aren’t you tired?


6.

Who’s afraid of fire,
you once asked me. 
As if 
you wanted an answer, 
as if 
there was an answer, 
as if

fear 
smells sweet.


7.

The murder of crows is calling. 
Listen – 
that is your name. 
All you have to do is –
             go.


8.

Yes, demon dear. 
It’s called 
light. 
People look for it when 
there is 	          none. 




Author’s Note:
“Dissection of a Darling” was inspired by the portrait, “Die Baba,” by Marlene Dumas (1985). Each numbered section of this ekphrasis poem corresponds to a feature of Dumas’ portrait that held my attention, such as the mouth, hairline, eyes, etc. and confronts the viscerality of living within a violent and wonderous world. 

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Annie Bartos has a PhD in Geography and an MFA in Creative Nonfiction. Her writing has been published in The Offing, The Rumpus, The Sun and elsewhere. Her debut essay collection is forthcoming with the University of Georgia Press.