symbol leaves no taste for the thing itselfElizabeth Hoover
Menelaus wanted a war
so he trained Helen in beauty:
sit in a darkened room, think of nothing.
This and other tricks I learned
in the airless trailer where
my boyfriend kept me.
You can make your eyes adjust
to the dark faster if
you never open them.
It was then that I became invested
in the credibility of the unreal,
the certainty of disguise.
The mask of a woman, under it
another mask, under that—a girl
not quite thirteen.
In recreating what he took,
I learned that to create is a joy.
I use the materials I have: torso
consumed by fatty shapes, concealed
under a ballgown with a feathered face,
bowed like a bug in a cage.
I know what Helen thought
locked in her room during
the slaughter. I will use it
as the script for my new performance
about the joy of a monster so far
from the city she can’t be hunted.
Would you like to perform with me?
Would you like to finally see what
we can do with these things?
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symbol leaves no taste for the thing itself
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For a Misplaced Hatchet