she died
not that she’s gone though
I resurrected in her place
My mother calls me sullen now
And talks only of days where I
‘Made everyone laugh with your jokes and dances’
And I want to shake her and yell that the daughter of jokes and dances is dead
And now all I do these days is
Mourn that fact and
Hold it close like a well-loved teddy bear,
One eye, ragged, string falling out
Hard to remember what
she looked like when I was fresh and new
and we had something in common
we both didn’t know
that our time would be over
before we saw the moon
and loved it for what it was
and realized things have meaning and Teddy and I don’t
Found out the world is not a backdrop
I am
And the sun recognizes one of us and it’s not me
Everybody wants me to be a little girl again
The men and the Gods,
So they can sacrifice me
And I can get dressed up
Real nice and pretty
Before I offer myself
to them
Young and lovely
Never more beautiful
At the alter I laugh and dance
They think my jokes are funny
They are taken with me
And then they take me
And I sat there
wondering if I looked pretty.
Strike Out,
Writer: Brianna Patane
Edited by: Nina Rueda and Sarah Harwell
Orlando
Brianna Patane is a content writer for Strike Magazine Orlando. You can find her re-reading a Sally Rooney novel, writing about her feelings, or lost in thought at a cafe while listening to something with an electric guitar solo in it. Other hobbies include making the perfect iced vanilla latte with oat milk at Foxtail, talking very loudly about feminism, making mediocre art, and being outside with friends. Preferably on a porch. You can contact her at bpatane12@gmail.com.
