Remember that time Atwood fleshed
Aunt Lydia Out
To be more than a monster molded by the patriarch
Beyond the Handmaid’s Tale ?
Was Becka’s demise
A dark nod to the girl
Fished out from the water tank of
Cecil’s dark tower?
The water stank
And everyone drank
A piece of her
Flavor in their mouths
Metallic
They fleshed her out and played elevator games
Conspiring with ghosts
All because she tied her fate to a rock
And drowned
Her body
A bloated eucharist
To be sacrificed to tall tales
I imagine her skipping
The sidewalks of skidrow
Past the newspaper blankets mixed in with
The stench of piss and
Dirty little secrets
Crossing borders and
Borderlines
In a search party
For herself and
People looking
She must have been
Manic
In her own Femme
Fatale
Nizm
Manic from the fix to fix those nights with no sleeping.
Manic off a cocktail of pills meant to keep her
Demons at bay
Instead of opening the lid.
She must not have read the fine print.