Pillbox

O sister on the other side
of the mirror, all sass and vinegar.  
Galaxy of lace and petticoats 
and pretty things swept under 
the radar.  You are a vintage 
ditty, hiding some unhinged woman—
All of her broken intent snapped into 
our mother’s satin purse.  Imagine a word 
before it was born—yolk of doc. 
Imagine musical notes on a staff 
being crushed into a pile of dirt.  
Your head is a lunch counter, 
too many mouths talking at once.  
Here’s the thing, you can be eaten 
alive by anything. The record player 

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