alt. title: narrative cop-outs I am sick of

[odditycollector]

Something pissed me off today. You get a poem about it.

 
the value of daughters

So you would write a story
for me to care about.
I will tell you how.

Draw a man. Use ink. Use words if you have them. Shape him out of clay.
Give him a name, so I may remember him. Tell me he is strong.
Give him a child. Make it a daughter
so I know he is a good man. A man who would stay for a daughter
who would teach and love a daughter
even without a son to bind him.

And keep the daughter young. Old enough to smile for the man you created
(for you created a good man)
but years from learning of opinions
or that she could have one, if it won't mess your story
the one I care about.
And give the daughter pretty curls
and tell me she has her mother's eyes
like all good girls do.

Now. Sharpen your blade. The one in your mind
where you keep your story.
Watch reflections in its steel until you see
the daughter of the man you created
for me to care about

then swing fast. Draw a knife, a crowbar,
a bullet to send through pretty curls.
A car with broken lines.
Or create wolves to tear her
or hands to squeeze her throat
or send her piece by piece in boxes to her father
blood soaking down your paper.
Rape her if you must.

But do it all
between panel, chapter, line
behind the easel.
Turn off the camera
so I do not hear the screams
so I do not mistake a daughter
for something that might have become a human being.

Does he cry, the man you created? He should, if you did your work carefully.
(if you created a good man)
Catch his tears in resin
or ink or words or clay
and string them up around him, fancy ornaments like something interesting
for me to care about.
When you begin your story, I will see them
and turn the pages.

And do not wonder for the daughters.
They hit the ground no harder than their sisters
trampled into dirt or sold for pieces
or left behind before their mother's milk has dried
or drowned or starved or oil burning down their backs
names listed at no grave site.
Those daughters drawn in blood and bone
not ink not words not in a father's tears
unless that father is a good man.

Comments

[thefourthvine.livejournal.com]

JUST TELL ME OMG. Is it Lian? Lian came immediately to mind when I was reading your poem and I really, really don't want it to be her. But at this point I'm assuming it is. (Although, why? She's going to be the next Arrow, right? Okay, maybe it wasn't her, but then, who?)

...And, hmmm. The earthling might like that! Except we have no source of Real Bagels in Los Angeles (that I know about). We have these other things. They are not entirely unlike bagels. (Although I hear tell that Montreal bagels are nothing like what I think of as bagels - just as good, but totally different. Someday I will go back to Montreal and find out.)

[odditycollector.livejournal.com]

itisLian. There seems to be fuck-all answer to Why, so we are guessing that giving Roy extra angst is the whole of it.

We also have Montreal bagels in Vancouver, I guess if they wanted to change the name they would have had to add sprinkles to the recipe or something. They are a lot denser and tastier than the alternative fluffy bagels, which are the other sort I know and, uh... baked in a round brick oven? I dunno how you describe unfamiliar food.

[marag.livejournal.com]

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

::cough:: Sorry, it's just...I was thinking about buying comics again, but nevermind.

[odditycollector.livejournal.com]

Why would you do *that*?! Even I'm following less and less DC as times moved forward - they keep putting crossovers in my books, and I don't pick them up for long enough to break their habit. I'm pretty much down to "Things with Supergirl in" right now, and there's about to be a Legion crossover in *those*, when I find myself unable to stand the Legion. So... yes. You'd probably be happiest to stay away.