If Geppetto carved a daughter,
would I have seen it sooner?
myself, all wood and paint and strings
wobbly kneed, naïve
chasing vodka and bad boys, just to feel alive
Or was it to forget the
fear of suspended animation
like sandpaper chewing my bones
dangling dread of the non-living, undead
If I’m not real, what am I?
There’s surety in strings
the raw physics of a marionette
its law of consequences
predictable, unforgiving
perfect for mimicking life
But I never was very good at lying
and what are puppets
if not lies in motion?
I stumble over my own nose
puppet orphan rebel ass
I’m caught in glitchy VR
rebel puppet assorphan
blipping through avatars
rebelorphanassorphanpuppet
pixelating personas until the
Whale-jawed black screen
swallows me
all of me
all the me’s
all
—————————-
——–v^—–√—–√√v^
—√√v^—√√v^—√√v^
Then spits me back
like Monstro or Jumanji
but we’re done playing games
and with limbs unstrung
I touch my chest, feel the breath
Air exchanged with trees
a thousand thousand
generations breathing me
now I see, strings are
no substitute for roots
If Geppetto carved a daughter
would I have seen it sooner?
© Nichole Q. Perreault
