Once, blinded by a twinkling night on Carolina sand

While comets fell and passion rose his seed was darkly sown.

Cunina[1] bore the golden child she wrapped in silk and gingham

And fed her well with fairy tales and nectar from lobelia

But ardor dimmed and pledges died. They were as Hollow Men.

Branded by her secret’s singe and scarred by prickly pears

She hid her marks with crimson scarves

And dwelled in twilight worlds

Where truth was blurred and constant pain was dulled by her surrender

And memories merge with daydreams to weave imperfect cloth.

Her child still wears those twice worn rags 

But with the help of Knockers[2]

She mines the veins of twice told lies and layers of subterfuge

To find the truths she will retell to other women’s daughters.



[1] Cunina was a minor goddess of infants. She was responsible for guarding the cradle

[2] The Knockers  live beneath the ground where they wear tiny versions of standard miner’s garb and commit random mischief, such as stealing miner’s unattended tools and food.


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