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To My Pre-Op Self as Marionette

I’ll feed you

a line—Maker, don’t

hesitate, just set that saw

to singing—so that he’ll cut

your legs free from the linden

block, and stain them, too, all

while cradling your voice, faint as a child’s

in the next room—and here, I’ll feed you

another line—until you say yes,

to a name or yes, please

to his naming—and although you

are not his daughter you are born

by his hand, you answer

the name he cuts free in your mouth—

Molly and Cindy and Christy and Sam—

yes, you answer all the same—

from TeratologyFind it in the Library

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Published in Poems Susannah Nevison

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