from The Kathy Doll
Kathy didn’t want to be a tract, wasn’t able to hope for broken glass she was in prison, comely little girl completely mad. Kathy has been lots of places, she plet her tongue before locating her desires and when she disappeared she pleted the ocean.
Kathy was neither shame nor guilt nor plom she would plop her worn out cunt. She would mop up her father and mother and join us for a tea party. Kathy would mope for hours each day in front of the telly. She would peel the skin from the corner of her lips blow it towards me and I would come with her dusty skin falling all around me.
Kathy had a plant and she called it Kathy. An ant climbed all over the leaves a little map that Kathy would read when she needed more words in her liant Kathy was a liar and she always told the truth. Kathy had pliant legs and strong hands and an overly sensitive clitoris.
Kathy said amen once and then laughed just because she was able to blame someone at last, God is so blameable, so invisible, so sive. I’ve sap from Kathy’s skin in a tiny test tube and I sip it when I need a bit of vis scattered about the cold room.
Kathy is a sieve I use sometimes when I need a sign, every one of Kathy’s books is signed with need with gen with sing at pat at patterns. Kathy used a net to make stories and Kathy had natty tits hidden in a tent top until needed.
Kathy had a dol called Kathy, a cile dol with oil in her hair, a tame dol with Kathy arms the dol was maim and had me taken out of her palms and Kathy drank tea when she was in London, sitting on her bed, I sud next to her and I would sub tea with her and I am not ded bud she is and when I sued Kathy for stealing my words she told me she was due and that it was time to deliver her.
‘How much pain are you willing to experience?’ Kathy asked me.
She explained that she wanted to hold out her arms inside me and push and push and push until I start shaking.
‘Hurt me baby, show me what love is,’ I told my Kathy child.
Kathy is a building in which the windows and doors no longer exist.
[Hannah Silva is a Birmingham based poet, playwright and performer. She has shown her work widely including at Krikri International Festival of Polyphony in Belgium, the Tokyo Design Centre, The Southbank Centre, the Edinburgh Book Festival and StAnza. She won the Tinniswood Award for ‘Marathon Tales’, (co-written with Colin Teevan for BBC Radio 3). Her latest performance piece ‘Schlock!’ premiered at the Aldeburgh Poetry Festival. Her first collection ‘Forms of Protest’ is published by Penned in the Margins. Hannah’s website: http://hannahsilva.wordpress.com]
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