Olivia Mammone

GRAY GIRL

I have nightmares about a Fear Circus
Where emaciated elephants do dog and pony tricks
And tattered tents hang like bruises against a starless sky
Under the big top there's a dusty stage with velvet curtains
I stand in an endless audience of big brute boys and mean eyed men
They reek of blood, they reek of beer
I don't know what I'm doing here
And to their obscene cheers the velvet curtains draw away
In the middle of the stage upon her knees there is a gray girl
Arms folded over bosom bare
Each breast the shape and size of one sweet pear
A hundred colored skirts cover her up but
She shivers with cold
Faded ribbons fall from knots in her long hair
A gray girl. A good girl.
Her smile is painted painful on her pretty, tired face
She asks what they want
Live wolves they salivate for skin and meat
"Show us what you got baby, and we'll love you!" they holler.
And she obeys because she thinks she must
Slowly she draws her arms from her breast
And underneath the soft, translucent skin
I see the tender heart that beats within
She hopes they'll love that too
They don't. I do.
They rape her with their eyes.
But still if s not enough for them
"Dance for us, baby, and we'll love you!" they holler
And she obeys because she thinks she must
She hitches up all hundred of her skirts
And underneath their scrutinizing stares
She shows the painful scars her body bears
She hopes they'll love them too
They don't. I do.
They tell her she is ugly
And believing them she drops her skirts in shame
And still it's not enough "Sing for us, baby, and we'll love you!"
And she obeys because she thinks she must
Her song reveals her thoughts in all their depth
In her pure voice I feel her soul inside each breath
She hopes that they will love it too
They don't I do.
They tell her she is stupid
And believing them she shuts her mouth in shame
She spreads her arms to them, having given all she can
They swear and scream and vie for her.
And like a gruesome tide they rush the stage and grab her
They tear her skirts. They scar her skin. They rip her all apart.
Each taking a piece for themselves
And though she weeps with fear and pain, she lets them
Because to her this is love
A gray girl, a good girl
Then they desert her
Broken and weeping on the fear circus stage
Except me
I want to help her
I need to
So from the dirty floor I gather up
All the bits and pieces lost
And put her back together
I tell her she is beautiful, tell her she is smart
I tell her how I love her song, her scars
The beating of her heart
But all she does
Is get shakily to her feet
She begins to walk away
Stopping only to tell me
That the next show
Is in an hour,

Olivia Mammone is a sophomore at Hofstra University pursuing a crossdisciplinary degree in creative writing and anthropology. "Gray Girl" marks her first effort at writing about her experience as a disabled person and Wordgathering marks her first publication. She is a writer of both poetry and prose with influences ranging from F. Scott Fitzgerald to Jim Morrison.