Jamie Sage Cotton
white lies on cold lips
heaven howls
at the shadow of a corpse
and the memory of it falling
heaven howls
a tourniquet unneeded
and the memory of it falling
like ragged bandaged madness and
a tourniquet unneeded
sorrow fermenting in jars
like ragged bandaged madness and
the bleeding skin of a city
sorrow fermenting in jars
revealing
the bleeding skin of a city
where Medusa hoists her skirt
revealing
a handsome bed of deception
where Medusa hoists her skirt
singing of marriage and murderous things
a handsome bed of deception
the fangs of fear gnawing at my belly
singing of marriage and murderous things
sh, she says, sh
the fangs of fear gnawing at my belly
and the shadow of a finger to a mouth
sh, she says, sh
white lies on cold, cold lips
the shadow of a finger to a mouth
but seeing is not the same as hearing
white lies on cold, cold lips
and I told them I didn’t see anything
but seeing is not the same as hearing
and I didn’t know when I heard him begging
and I told them I didn’t see anything
that he was begging for his life
and I didn’t know when I heard him begging
while I kept my head down
that he was begging for his life
I was scared
while I kept my head down
I saw a shadow fall
I was scared
when they came to ask what I had seen
I saw a shadow fall
and I knew what could happen to pretty young girls
in strange foreign countries
when they came to ask me what I had seen
I told them nothing woke me
I knew what could happen to pretty young girls
in strange foreign countries
I knew I had to leave so
I told them nothing woke me
I did not tell them I was already awake
I knew I had to leave so
I lied
I did not tell them I was already awake
I lied
I lied
now I wake with a ghost gun in my mute mouth
I lied
and the shadow of a corpse
now I wake with a ghost gun in my mute mouth
the fags of fear gnawing at my belly
and the shadow of a corpse
as my bedfellow
the fags of fear gnawing at my belly
I wake and find
as my bedfellow
white lies on cold lips
I wake and find
a stranger whispering
white lies on cold lips
sh, she says, sh
a stranger whispering
and holding a strange unnameable fruit
sh, she says, sh
bite, chew, swallow—it won’t hurt you anymore
~
Jamie Sage Cotton is a freelance writer, performance artists and filmmaker living in San Francisco, California with her partner their two dogs, two cats, a gecko, and twenty-one chickens. She has traveled and performed with Karen Horowitz’s production of Girl Meets Girl and with her one-woman show “My Mother’s Hand and other things that burn.” Locally she has performed with The Queer Girl Theatre Project and is completing her first short film “Black Sheep.”