I'm the sad girl in white Mary Janes.
Who ties herself to the railroad tracks.
Mama won’t let me pick the black carousel
horse, that filthy thing. Oh her velvet
ribbons, vanilla throat. She says  
I’m a fury of satin. Paints Daddy
a pretty picture, sipping Constant Comment,
fevered by romance novels and grandfather
clocks. The sad arc of my arms making
the darkest hole, the darkest hearse.
The man outside my window breathes smoke
and ice onto the panes. His brackish
outline. Here all the dolls have watery
eyes. The terrible shadows their lashes
make. How it begins as a taste. A gnawing.
The white, delicate breath while darkness
aches in my teeth. I dream of a funeral
fit for a queen. The coffin filled
with the loveliest pink fish. Always
the tree branches scuffing my shoes.
I'll perch there all day, watch the house
from afar. My sister's face pushed tight
against the door frame. The lace
of my dress falling towards death.