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Amanda M. Blake

~ Of fairy tales and tentacles

Amanda M. Blake

Tag Archives: lizzie borden

The Trial

28 Saturday Dec 2024

Posted by amandamblake in Poetry

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Tags

bad girls, good girls rarely make history, little girl with a curl on her forehead, lizzie borden, poem, Poetry, the curse of milhaven, the trial

Photo by Renato Mu on Pexels.com

(Here’s a poetry gift for you at the end of 2024.)

You stand before God.
You stand before man.
And we ask you
to make us understand
how a sweet little girl
could derail the divine plan
with a smile, as only
a good little girl can.

You put me on trial
for such slight indiscretion.
Have a little fun,
They call it demonic possession,
set a trial, and demand
an instant confession.
Snuff it out,
a good girl’s unseemly aggression,
at least until good girl
has learned her sweet lesson.

Pinafore days
and petticoat nights,
you skipped and you sang,
a good child’s delights.
When darkness falls
a good child sleeps tight,
succumbs not to the shadows.
There’s something not right.

You act as though
you’ve never squinted before
against light breaking through
that you cannot ignore.
But there’s more in
bad light for good men to deplore,
and there’s more than
bad faith for a child to explore.
I don’t want to be blinded
by your light anymore.

We have doctors for you,
and family and priests.
The healing must begin.
Grant us that much at least.
There’s teaching to be done,
prayers never ceased.
Would you serve angels
or the wilder Beast?

Show me the wild,
and I’ll show you a heart.
I’ll fight tooth and nail,
tear my sweet life apart.
I know I’m too cruel,
and I know I’m too smart.
A blood smear’s a painting,
and good dying’s an art.
Afterlife’s for the dead.
Let me live, for a start.

They held me back.
I had no other choice.
If they could, they would have
stolen my eyes and my voice,
dressed me up in doll clothes
like a toddler’s toys—
no escape, not a whisper,
not the slightest little noise,
hobbled feet and bound hands.
Would you do that to boys?

Say I’m a beast. Shut me down.
Call me to grave submission.
But I offer you now
this bad girl’s admonition:
If I plead my fair guilt
of my own bald admission,
I’ll show none of your
recommended contrition
but condemn you in your
own hysterical condition.

Two braids and a curl
do not need your branded permission.
Shut your mouth, bend your knees
to this pinafore perdition.

For a woman never forgets,
and a girl is never forgiven.

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