Vanished

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true crime shows in syndication transmute the natural world into a                  threatening beast—
worse than any clawed or toothed predator are the soft-skinned ones who come
bearing bouquets of redbuds or trout lilies, which always somehow become a bag of bones
in some kind of alchemical sleight-of-hand when rings & vows are added to the incantation.
there are no woods deeper or darker than the hearts of bad husbands. no wolves more merciless
& bloodthirsty than lovers turned away

— after all, aren’t these beasts just heartsick, besotted boys?

that’s the fiction we transliterate out of memoirs transcribed in forensics, in facial reconstructions
& bone fragments, DNA matches & wayward hairs. wreathed in night-blooming wild petunias
& Small’s skullcaps. wrapped up in bedsheets & comforters, bedded down in graves dug shallow,
how the soil groans at another body entering it unwillingly, another lamb
left bleating in the woods after dark, tied to a tree as an offering to the gods
not to take the whole town with it,

another daughter

vanished

 
 

Allie Marini is a cross-genre Southern writer. In addition to her work on the page, Allie was a 2017 Oakland Poetry Slam team member & writes poetry, fiction, essays, performing in the Bay Area, where as a native Floridian, she is always cold. Find her online: www.alliemarini.com or @kiddeternity. Her newest chapbook, Here Comes Hell, is available through dancing girl press.

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