Annabelle Ballard


To a Cuckoo Feminist

Every conversation 
we have these days, 
you transfer bones from 
one graveyard 
      to another. 
I hate the way
you
trot out the past, it rat
                                        tles like milk teeth.
                                                                                                                                  
You skim a measuring tape
under my breasts 
they still tickle                  
                                                                                                                                  
when I leave in your unwanted dress.
                                                     To you, 
I’m slice of prized pelvic bone 
- snapped at the end 
of a family meal. The future 
                                                  scat
                                                         tered - like knucklebones 
                                                                                   shattered
                                   the cracked plate between your legs.

Marinating under the covers -
at least I have the guts to lie in my own bed. 
Lamplight pours over sister’s sketch:

               Silhouette in green dress
               Pinching potato chip – 2015. 
               Crayon on butcher’s paper. 
               Price on enquiry.

Baby, I bounce like Crayola eyes
sucker each socket, peel 
away scales where 
                  anybody  
else’s lips better be.                          I used to whisper tinder tales
                                                      praying we could become equals.

Instead I got teeth in my box 
cause all the best snap-stories 
are about robots. 

Annabelle Ballard is a writer and undergraduate student at Monash University. Her work has been published in Voiceworks, Incisors & Grinders and Dissent. She lives in Melbourne, Victoria, and is absorbed by all the indie games on Steam.
 
 
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