Bride of the
Barbiturate
“She’s alive! Alive!”
Dr. Pretorius, Bride of Frankenstein
I. Wake
Wake her at midnight—will she wake?
The damp in her hair, her wince and wild recoil,
her eyes rolled back against electric glare, the shock
of air. The sheet pulled back provokes a sudden chill,
revives the shrouded sleeper, lying there.
She, half-covered, barely breathing lies
intact and cold, beyond you. She will not, she
cannot, you must not, touch, rouse—
oh wake her and save her at midnight, beloved,
risen to walk the hallway stiff, her face
crease-stitched with sleep. She jerks
her bird head to the side, spits rage, comes toward
you, sliding one hand down the wall.
Again the stale breath, the terrible thirst.
Claim her then, wanton, ancient and wild,
her face so white and drawn. Now she sees you,
she screams, something in Assyrian: a curse.
II. Necromancer
Make me a nun, the dead man’s bride,
in love with gravity: the dead so heavy
their limbs may not resist. That languor
you may take as permission to procede.
I woke up as he was working on me;
he was cleaning me very carefully.
Exquisite thrill, the knife inspects
the mystery of flesh. I kept still
to let him think I didn’t know.
Things went...too far. Finally he had to do
the merciful act: send me back...
Inside the haunted forest hung with moss,
thorns knit the sky dark; hedgerows grow tall.
In swamps, in burned-out cities,
at certain crossroads deserted at dusk,
a judgment hovers...the void
pulls life into itself.
A man on a black horse, a knight
of sorts. I drew that card and held it close.
A boat pitched on black water. Love
is a hand at the throat, a salt kiss. I am
so beautiful dead.
III. Bride of the Barbiturate
She could do what she wanted,
cave them in her hands, hide
them, hoard them, make them
disappear. Dice. Stones. Little bones.
She could say what the doctor ordered,
and how many were left in the bottle
before she started swallowing one
after another—how many tonight
he does not know—his mind’s
too slow, he cannot gauge,
she’s gone beyond him,
skimmed his gaze, now falling
down through dream, she’s floated,
riding wafts of air; he takes
her hand, limp tulip drooping
in his grasp, her jaw hung slack,
her eyes flat glass. Now she
will not refuse, he smooths
her hair, no protest there.
He listens at her breast, the slow
heart strong, her breathing
soft, that languor nothing
will deny.
IV. She Saw Him and Began Screaming
in hospital light
ripping the tube
fought gagging up |
her hands tied
from her throat
the pills blood |
down she kept
the IV she
on her mouth |
she bit her
have they seized
darkness gone under |
tongue fighting the
her now away
to hear her |
hose shrieking why
from that cool
heart gun and |
flood to shine
light glaring back
seen the dead |
a beam into
through emptied pupils
wakened cursing this |
her eyes ghost
have you never
world loathe to |
return who ripped
her here fighting
need and fear |
her from dark
red with fury
signed orders dialed |
earth who brought
whose act whose
for help and |
brought her to
and walk her
sleep let them |
this wake her
back to us
rot as they |
oh wake her
let the dead
are liable let |
them rise in
walks the hallway
his face grey |
their invisible bodies
glare too bright
hands steady carrying |
before God he
for night-spent eyes
clothes from home. |
