Portrait Of A Marionette


Going back, I lock the gaping door

I tiptoe up each step of my caracole

Brush the dust from my feet

Coat my eyes in black kohl

Tie a hair-ribbon in limp curls


The puppet-girl takes her place

Fastens the manacles of spiders’-thread

With clammy palms devoid of fingerprints

Smooths the taffeta and the lace

I wait for the tug, the sign to perform

Perform to the beat of acapella silence


Standing high up in the scaffolding

My bones too stiff to shake

I can no longer hear the morning

As I’m dropped to the empty stage

The hidden now on display

I will dance till they yank me up


My smile hard and senescent

I dance near the border,

Am jerked along to clichés

Acquiescing, I glide along

Prancing in nebulous puddles


The dance effectuated, I bow to the vacant seat

The adamantine moon my only gallery

The dull flecks of stars my faithful audience


 Copyright © Bethany Richardson 2012


4 thoughts on “Portrait Of A Marionette

  1. Ayasonice says:

    I’ve been reading this one over and over again. You often give me so much to think about. I’ll share it on twitter. Keep dancing girl and someday the world will notice!

  2. Goodnight! You are seriously good! Imma have to get my wife to come read your poetry…she will really be blown away!

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