Hiding what I can

I give you the key…

I went to Bluebeard’s closet
Because he left the key


And there were five little doll heads
Staring dead at me.

Five nameless, sparkless ladies
Cracked face and broken limb
All meanly slashed to pieces
Washed sick with pea green skin.

Now I know it was a ruse,
and he will be back soon.

So I closed shut Bluebeard’s closet
Stuffed full of tattered dolls
Cold, cruel, cramped and ugly
Splashed blood-brown on the walls.

And crouched among the women
My face bleached white as chalk
Waiting for the terminus:
Keys turning in a lock.

~ Monica Jenny Sharma

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