Susannah Baker

She says the garden it was real nice—
all them animals were tame you know.

Under watchful eyes she walks the grounds
or in the dayroom looks at television—
pictures flash and time collapses
like a serpent coiling on itself.
For lunch they bring her applesauce
and cubes of Jell-O cold and red as apples.

They found her dancing naked on the carousel
in a night-closed park
and still calliope’s glint—
broad hips’ rocked and swayed
below breasts’ heavy swing—
a lurching shaman on a spirit journey
among the wooden animals
celebrating horse’s rolled eye,
tiger’s bloodless mouth.

 
 
 
 
 

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